What You See in the Dark - Manuel Munoz [36]
“What was the man doing in Phoenix? How did they meet?”
“Good question. I don’t know. A salesman, I suspect, however clichéd that is. But I suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s at the beginning of the movie, so the scenario is just something you accept. Don’t you agree? If a picture starts, and there’s a man and a woman, and they say they’re in love, you believe them. Right? At least, that’s how I’m approaching it.” She didn’t believe that, but she appreciated the driver’s question, tinged as it was with the same urge she had for answers to the lives of characters, even if the answers weren’t very important. “In any case, her lover goes back to California, just about calling off their affair because the situation has become impossible and unbearable. They live in different states and the man has an ex-wife who is taking all of his store profits for alimony. What kind of life could they live together?
“That very afternoon, at the office where she works, her boss makes an extraordinary sale to a wealthy man and asks her to deposit the money in the bank. She agrees and then asks to leave work early because she has a headache, but instead of going to the bank, she goes home, packs a suitcase, and decides to drive to California.”
“She steals the money?”
“Yes, all of it …”
“A bad girl. I don’t think my wife and I have ever seen you play one before.” He looked surprised, the rise in his voice suggesting that he disapproved, so much so that the Actress debated if she should continue.
“It’s a challenge, I admit. To play against type.”
“I’ll say. Aren’t you afraid people will have a negative reaction to you playing that kind of woman? A thief?”
“She’s more than a thief …”
“An adulterer. I forgot about that part.”
“It’s a complex moral dilemma. That’s the way I like to think about it.” She took a sip of her tea, a sharply bitter black tea with a strange taste. She set down the cup. “I also believe that audiences are sophisticated and wise enough to separate you from the role you play.”
“To a degree,” said the driver. “But if it’s the wrong part … I mean, if people remember you so strongly in that role, people may not ever forget you in it. Do you remember that picture from a few years ago? I don’t remember the name … It was about the little girl who envied things so much she killed people to get them.”
“The Bad Seed. Interesting play, to say the least. I saw it in New York, but I never saw the film.”
“Yes, that’s the title. Last year, I bought a television set for my wife, and we like to watch those theater shows, the playhouse specials. You know the ones? And whenever that little girl shows up, no matter what the role, my wife makes me change the station. She really hates that little girl!”
The Actress laughed. “That little girl has the benefit of getting older. I’ll bet your wife doesn’t remember her name.”
“She probably doesn’t. Just the blond pigtails. Innocent little girl otherwise. But you … ,” he said. “You’ll look the same, movie to movie. Don’t you worry about that?”
He went back to his food, waiting for her to answer, and she didn’t quite know how. She understood what he was getting at, the thorny reaction of the public, its fickle nature, but even in a generous view of her career, she was hardly Elizabeth Taylor or Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly or any of those gilded actresses with something to protect when it came to script choices. She wasn’t the same, she wanted to tell him, tapping the sticky café table with a hard nail to prove her point. She wasn’t going to look the same from movie to movie—she was going to age.
“I hope I didn’t upset you,” he said.
“No, no. I’m just thinking about what you said. It’s a serious question.