“It’s an awful thing to go through.”
Michael and Catherine were having dinner at Mr. Chow.
“Has he opened up?”
“Yeah he has. A little bit. Because I’ve talked about Cameron. So there’s a bond: our wayward children.”
“Did she really say she thought porn was ‘art’?”
“Yes she did.”
They nodded their heads in muted sorrowful stupefaction.
“Did I tell you I saw Calliope?”
“No!”
“Jesus. There’s been too much goin on.”
“How is she?”
“She’s fantastic. We had a very interesting conversation — if you want to call me just sitting there listening a conversation.”
“I love that woman. And you never just sit & listen.”
“She sends her love. She said, ‘There’s a brave one.’”
Catherine raised a devilish eyebrow.
“And what pray tell was this one-sided conversation about? If I may be so bold.”
“You may, because you’re the bold & the beautiful. I went to see her because it’s been too long. I don’t know how long she’s planning to stick around. Plus I miss the old broad. I knew she wanted to see me — probably for the same reasons! I talked about Jazz, my hesitations of late, and solicited her opinion. She was very elegant in what she had to say. Which in a nutshell was, Damn the torpedoes! Kind of a ‘Mikie, you’re gonna go anyway, so you may as well go in a blaze of glory.’ She gave All That Jazz the green light.”
“Michael, please don’t tell me you’ve seduced one of the most brilliant psychiatric minds of our time into managing your career.”
“Ha! Not a bad idea though.”
“Oooo I want to kill her!”
“I told her you weren’t all that high on the idea.”
“I didn’t say that. What I said was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to play the Angel of Death. At my age, it’s the kind of rôle that tends to typecast.”
“You know you’re right. Those Angel of Death offers are gonna start pouring in.” She swatted him. “Did you know Fosse was her patient?”
“Uh uh.”
“For years.”
“Well,” she said, resolute. “You do what you do. As it should be. But nowhere is it written that I must come round to being keen on my husband playing himself—”
“I am not playing myself.”
“—or a reasonable facsimile thereof, in a film where he dies at the end.”
“Who says? Who says I have to die? He doesn’t have to die. Calliope said the character could live.”
“This woman should be a studio head! Or God.”
“Try both.”
“Actors frequently confuse them. Michael… I just want you to respect my decision. If I choose not to play that part, you must promise not to bully me. Promise?”
“Point taken.”
“When I say ‘Promise?’ you’re supposed to say ‘I promise,’ not ‘Point taken.’”
“Point taken and promised.”
“That’s a gross point, I hope. Give me ten of those, and you just might have found a way into my heart.”
“I’ll need to run that past Calliope.” (Another swat) “I still think Heather Morris would be phenomenal in the Reinking role. As the mistress. Girl has a rockin body—”
“O shush your noise!”
(A double swat)
“Hey, come on now, don’t hit a cancer survivor. TMZ’s gonna say you beat up your gaunt, defenseless husband in front of shocked diners. Onlookers. While in a bipolar frenzy.”
“Hmm. I bet lots of women in this restaurant would like to do the very same with their fellas. You know, what’s that line from Harry and Sally? ‘I’ll have what she’s having’!”
She was funny and fiery and could really make him laugh.
“Young Heather as your mistress, & no doubt you’ll cast some unknown hottie for your bespoke Angel of Death. You’ll be in heaven, won’t you?”
“You know who I think would choreograph?”
“Who.”
“Benjamin, Natalie’s husband.”
“He’s wonderful.”
“But you & me are going to have to hit the dance floor soon. You’re going to have to show me some moves.”
“I was going to make a Dancing With the Stars joke but it’s all becoming a bit too close to home now, isn’t it?”
“That’s Calliope’s favorite show!”
“Well of course it is. I suppose the world is coming to an end — the therapist I once revered as world-class has now completely regressed into little more than a Tinseltown svengali! How quickly they fall! She dropped like ninepins!”
“I talked to Annie—”
“Annie Reinking?”
“We’ve spoken a few times. She sent me some beautiful notes when I was in treatment, & one or two since.”
“Are they still in Phoenix?”
“Yeah. Her son’s a special needs kid—”
“Marfan. I know. She was wonderful about Dylan. Wonderful to talk to.”
“—she’s very much involved, on a national level. Raising Marfan awareness.”
“I should call.”
“Hey, when’s the gala?” he asked.
Catherine knew she was about to get her funnybone tickled. Her husband raised an eyebrow — the couple raised lots of eyebrows when they were together — transforming himself into Master Thespian, an old character from Saturday Night Live.
“Woman, I demand a reply! I am please to be informed of the time and the date of the latest gala — there’ve been so many, I’ve lost count — the latest gala celebration of… ME!”
“If it’s the Courage Ball you speak of, Lord Master Thespian,” she said, using his favorite berserk maid-in-waiting voice. “I believe it to be the 23rd of this month.”
“O how I love to be fêted!”
“You’ve been fêted so often, you’ve become fetid.”
He resumed his normal self.
“Y’know, we oughta have a face off — Master Thespian vs Catherine Zeta-Jones, Commander of the British Empire.”
“Let’s not. Did you know Beyoncé is taking Rihanna’s place?”
“At the ball? What happened?”
“She got terribly sick and had to cancel her tour. The doctors don’t even want her talking for 3 weeks.”
“Is Steve still hosting?”
“Far as I know. And that little girl is going to perform.”
“My Telma? My sweetheart Telma?”
“The little girl from Canada. She’s going to bring down the house.”
CLEAN [Telma]
To Reach the Unreachable Star