Backstage: A Fake Marriage Romance, page 2
“Then you should invite her over here, you know, after you clear the place up a little, and put on the Ryan Carter Speed dating charm.”
“Yeah, and no, that’s not going to happen”, I say. “Maybe after the production is over.”
“Maybe after the production is over you won’t have anywhere to invite her”, Alex says, holding up the third letter from my landlord that says, RENT OVERDUE in such big letters across the top there’s barely any other room for the threat of legal action that follows. I take the letter from him and put it with the others.
“It’s standard procedure”, I say, “he’s not going to kick me out.”
“I hope not”, Alex says. “I’d hate for you to have to get a real job again, I like telling people I meet that I know one of the guys that stands in union square covered in silver paint.”
“Once”, I say. “I did that once.”
“I’m not the right person to be giving you advice anyway”, Alex says. “All of my relationships turn into tragedies in the end.”
“That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m trying to avoid here”, I say, “but I have no idea how to do it.”
“Well I know this might sound a little radical, especially coming from such a deep thinking accountant as myself, but maybe you should try and spend a bit of time with her away from the theatre.”
“You don’t think condensing a six year relationship that culminates in a marriage into an hour and a half isn’t good enough?”
Alex looks sarcastically at me over the top of his beer glass.
“We go for lunch”, I say. “And we’ve been out as a group.”
“That’s good, do more of that”, Alex says. “That’s exactly the kind of thing you’d tell me to do.”
“It’s not that easy, she always seems like she’s got stuff to do, and she was seeing that jerk Jack for a while.”
Alex puts his hands up into the air theatrically, “Not anymore”, he says in a thespian voice, “the path has been cleared for your arrival, your majesty.”
“You know you’re wasted in accounting”, I say.
“That’s exactly why I come half way across Brooklyn on a school night to help you with your lines.”
“You come half way across Brooklyn to see me because you hate your roommates”, I point out.
“I resent that implication”, Alex says. “Even if Troy is a masterful ass-hole.”
“There’s always the couch”, I say, “I could do with the rent.”
“As much as I’d love to, my back couldn't take it”, Alex says. “And you’re about a million miles away from where I work.”
“Quit your job, become an acting bum like me, I think I’ve still got some of that silver paint left over somewhere.”
“No, I couldn’t risk it”, Alex says. “What if I made it big and Hollywood came calling? That would destroy you and I’d feel so guilty.”
“Again, I think you are absolutely wasted as an accountant”, I say.
Alex takes another beer from the fridge and sits down on the sofa. “Chicks dig accountants”, he says, “it’s an unavoidable fact of life. Money makes women wet.”
“So how come all of your relationships end in tragedies?” I ask, taking another beer for myself and joining him.
“I’ve been asking myself the same question for a long time”, Alex says. “I guess I’ve just got bad luck.”
“Six times in a row?” I ask.
“At least I want to stay with the same girl”, Alex says.
I get the copies of the script and pass one over to him. “You’re the mafia boss, Vincent”, I say. “I’m Carlos, his number one hitman, and they’re arguing over money. And I’m a completely different person now by the way.”
“She must be impressive”, Alex says. “Don’t tell me you’re falling in love.”
“Don’t be stupid”, I say. “That would be reckless and ridiculous.”
“Especially with an illegal immigrant.”
“She’s French, Alex, she’s not an illegal immigrant. She’s here perfectly legally on a student visa.”
“Which is going to run out soon”, Alex points out.
“Are you trying to make this difficult for me?”
Alex holds his hands up passively again. “I just don’t want to see you hurting yourself, that’s all, especially on your first time around. Being in love sucks if the other person doesn’t feel the same way, take it from me. I know you’re a serial dater and a long time ladies man, but I’m a serial relationship man, and I have more than one experience of a broken heart. I know you won’t listen to my advice anyway, which considering my track record is perfectly understandable, but don’t get involved in something you can’t see through to the end, because a broken heart sucks balls.”
“I’m not in love with her, Alex”, I lie. “Vincent, the mafia boss”, I add, jabbing the front page of the script. “If we don’t get this done tonight I’ll have no chance in the screen test tomorrow.”
“Capiche”, Alex says, in a phony Italian accent, his finger and thumb together to gesticulate at me wildly. “I’ve always wanted to be in the mafia.”
“Less Godfather more Sopranos”, I say. “Otherwise we’ll never get through this. Page twenty-two.”
Alex takes a sip of his beer and readies himself. “When can I meet her?” he asks.
“The same night as everyone else”, I say. “When we’re up there on the stage and doing it for real.”
Alex gives me a serious look.
“What?” I ask.
“I just never thought I’d see the day, that’s all”, he says. “The woman that takes Ryan Carter Speed off the market.”
I jab the script again. “Read”, I say, “or no more beer.”
“Just saying”, Alex says. “And you heard it here first, of course.”
Finally he turns the page. “Carlos”, he begins, in an Italian accent that’s way too thick but not problematic enough for me to stop him, “you’re like a brother to me. We grew up in the same neighborhood, we fell in with the same crowd, we fought on the same team. We—.”
My cell phone ringing cuts his hammy performance short. “I can’t work in these conditions”, he says in response, throwing the script to the sofa jokingly. “That better be your agent.”
“It’s Dad”, I say, looking at the caller ID. “He only ever calls me when it’s something urgent.”
“We’re supposed to be working here”, Alex complains.
“This won’t take long”, I say, putting the call through, half expecting him to have pressed the number in error. “Dad?”
“Ryan”, he says, his voice sombre. “Do you have a minute? I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
Chapter Three
Ryan
I’m missing the bedroom scene with Sophia to stare at some dead lady I never even knew get lowered ungracefully into a hole in the earth. Apparently great aunt Caroline is dead, and even though I can’t remember a single occasion of her being mentioned before, Dad has insisted I come to offer my support, which apparently roughly translates to making up the numbers.
I could be lying alongside Sophia in that giant double bed the props department has constructed specifically for our night-time scenes, but I’m here instead in the pouring rain - why does it always seem to be raining at funerals? - while our always eager understudy, Brad, will undoubtedly be keeping my side of the bed as warm as recently popped toast.
I guess that’s the thing with funerals, if someone asks you to come, you can’t exactly turn around and refuse them, even if the woman they’re burying happens to be a complete stranger to you, and there is something infinitely more interesting happening somewhere else in the city. Pouring rain or a semi-naked Sophia Moreaux? I know which I would choose if I could, especially because now that he’s here, Dad looks just as bored as I do.
When the thing is finally over, we make our way to a nearby restaurant for the wake, where the sandwiches have been cut into triangles, and a salmon side observes us all miserably from inside a foil robe. The handful of guests that have made the journey remark how tragic and fragile life can be sometimes while filling up on free coffee and making their way systematically around the buffet.
There is a cousin of Dad’s here I haven’t seen for about ten years, at least one other distant family member I am introduced to but don’t recognise, and then a small group who could either be acquaintances of Caroline's, or just looking for a free lunch. I haven’t spoken to a single person yet who seems to have known her well enough to say for sure.
“How’s the job hunt going?” Dad asks me, when the silence between us becomes too much to bear.
“I’m not looking for a job”, I point out, for what feels like the millionth time. “I’m far too busy with the play at the moment.”
“I can’t wait to see it”, Mom says.
“Anyway”, Dad says, “it might not be a bad idea to start thinking about the future again for when it’s over. Find something more stable.”
“So, who was this woman again?” I ask, cutting in before he gets a chance to continue.
“Your dad’s aunt”, Mom says. “The black sheep of the family, apparently.”
“I had no idea”, Dad adds. “James was the one that called me. She seems to have been scratched out of the family history entirely. Your grandfather’s eldest sister.”
Mom drops to a whisper, “According to James she was born out of wedlock and then put up for adoption.”
Mom’s such a gossip.
“How does that make her the black sheep of the family?” I ask.
“That doesn’t”, Mom says, “but it’s what came after that does.”
“And what came after?” I ask. If I’ve thrown earth on her coffin, I might as well try and get to know who she was.
“Ask James”, Dad said. “He was the one that got the call. Apparently she had his name down as an emergency contact. Seems like she knew more about the family than we did about her. I’m going to get some more salmon.”
“Is he alright?” I ask Mom, when Dad’s out of earshot. “He seems even more tense than usual.”
“I think he’s just upset that James got the call and not him”, Mom says. “You know how competitive he is.”
I go and find James to delve a little bit deeper.
“I’m finding out more and more as I go”, James says, the crumbs of a mille-feuille pastry dotting his jumper. “She was an actress apparently, theatre stuff, independent cinema, pretty well known as well.”
“Mom said she was a black sheep”, I say, wondering if being an actress somehow fits that definition for her.
James shrugs. “She was a popular woman in her day, but after her career was over, she kind of disappeared into obscurity. I had no idea she even existed, I don’t think my parents or your grandparents did either. She was born eight years before your Dad’s dad, and adopted straight out of the family. I guess we’ll know more about her history when they go through her belongings and see if there’s a will, but whether she was a black sheep or not, I have no idea.” He leans in close enough that I can strength grade the coffee he’s been drinking. “One thing’s for certain, however, it seems that aunt Caroline was absolutely loaded.”
Maybe that’s what’s got Dad steaming: another actress in the family that happens to be successful. I can’t take James’s bad breath any longer so I seek Mom and Dad back out to find out whether I’m free to go now. I’ve got lines to practise and about a million missed calls from my landlord I’m going to have to attend to sooner rather than later. I want to drop into the theatre as well and get just a little bit of Sophia time, but with everything else going on, I might have to wait for tomorrow for that.
Dad has salmon on his plate he’s not eating, while Mom seems to have decided to stick entirely to coffee, and I wonder if this is another one of a number of recent postmenopausal fad diets she seems obsessed about.
“James said she was loaded”, I say plainly. “That’s pretty good news.”
“If you’re thinking of getting even less active in your work life”, Dad says, “forget about it. James has a tendency to exaggerate these things anyway, and even if she did have any money set aside after nearly half her life in retirement, there’s little to no chance it will make its way down to you.”
“Way to destroy my dreams, Colin”, I say sarcastically.
“James and I are her closest last remaining relatives”, Dad adds. “If there’s any money, which I sincerely doubt there is, it is likely to come to us.”
“Besides which, there’s no will yet”, Mom adds. “She might not have even made one.”
My phone buzzes again, and I cut off the call.
“It’s work”, I lie when the phone is back in my pocket again and Mom and Dad are looking at me like they’re expecting an explanation. Forget a fortune, just a couple of hundred bucks would be enough to get my landlord off my back right now.
“Work or theatre?” Dad asks sarcastically.
“Caroline was an actress”, I say pointedly, “A successful one. Did James tell you that?”
“That depends on the definition”, Dad says. “From what I can make out, Caroline somehow managed to find her way into quite a rich family when she left ours, so I expect the actressing was just a hobby for her. It sounds like she lived quite a luxurious life.”
“Wasn’t she adopted out?” I point out.
Dad shrugs. “Anyway, thanks for coming”, he says, avoiding the question. “I’m sure she will have appreciated it.”
Semi-naked Sophia Moreaux, or sad salmon and dry sandwiches with a bunch of people who look like they’re next in line.
“It’s a pleasure”, I say.
“If you’re not doing anything for the rest of the day”, Mom begins, “we could always—.”
“You know I’d love to”, I lie, “but I’ve got about a hundred and one things I have to do.”
Dad looks at me suspiciously and I feel like I have to defend myself. “I’ve got to catch up on what I’ve missed today, go over lines for two different screen tests, clear the apartment, get the groceries in.”
“That’s just normal life, Ryan”, Dad says.
“Do you have someone special coming over?” Mom asks.
These two are like pantomime villains. Dad’s obsessed with me getting what he considers a real job, while Mom’s obsessed with me getting a girlfriend. The subtext is relentless and it’s the same every time I see them.
“No, nobody special”, I say. “I just need to clean it.”
“I worry about you being in that apartment all alone”, Mom says, unable to hold back any longer.
“I like living alone”, I say, “and anyway, I’m hardly ever there at the moment. I spend more time pretending to be in someone else’s apartment at the theatre, that’s why my own place needs cleaning.”
Mom has the words on the tip of her tongue but I’m not going to let her say them. Besides her traditional views being embarrassingly outdated, the funeral of a distant and unknown relative is the last place she should be exercising her concerns about my relationship status.
I have a perfectly normal made up relationship with my work colleague Sophia, and unless that somehow changes with her, there is no other status for me but single, despite how much it annoys my mother.
As the only child in this family, I have a certain expectation to provide grandchildren for her to get all gooey over, and the longer I leave it, the more desperate she seems to get. It’s got worse recently too, which means her comments, which are almost always inappropriate and about as subtle as an elephant drinking tea out of a bone china mug, have increased in intensity and frequency.
“I’m going to have to go if that’s alright with you guys”, I say seeing this as my way out. “Maybe we can do something together properly after the first night. I’m going to be really busy until then.”
Mom gives me a look that tells me she’s swallowed her comment, ready to regurgitate the next time we see each other.
“I don’t think we’re going to stay much longer either”, Dad says. “This food is awful.”
Outside and finally free, I check the several answer phone messages my landlord has left me.
Each one is a variation of the same theme which essentially boils down to a threat of eviction in a week’s time unless I pay the two months rent I owe him. I briefly consider calling him to try and explain my situation - dead great aunt, family tragedy, horrific bed bounding grief - but I haven’t got the energy left at the moment to lie, and besides which, I don’t want him to know he can actually reach me on this number.
By the time I get back to the city, it’s already too late to visit the theatre. Rehearsals will have finished and cast and crew members will either be on their way home or there already.
It would be too weird to drop in now, even if seeing Sophia would make the extra forty five minute round trip more than worth it.
I decide to head home to practise my lines, and it’s a decision I immediately regret when I see my landlord, Lucas sat waiting for me, leaning up against my front door with a barely concealed scowl of disgust on his face.
Chapter Four
Sophia
Despite the twists and turns my on-stage relationship takes with Ryan, at least we get a happy ending together. The same can’t be said for any of the off-screen relationships I’ve had in my life so far, Jack the last in an embarrassingly long line of men that have turned very quickly into regrettable mistakes. Not only has he stolen my money - I feel like an absolute idiot for lending it to him in the first place - he also seems to have replaced me, twice over already.
I guess it’s my own fault for not realising how much of a player he was the first time we hooked up, and he spent half the night on his cell phone chatting to whom I thought were female friends of his.
Sometimes I wish this whole thing with Ryan were real, because he makes other men look like pathetic imposters, and I’m not just talking about his character in this play either. He’s hot, sweet and such easy company, there’s no doubt he’d make an even more perfect off-screen boyfriend than he does an on-stage husband.
