Their lips came together again. They made their way to the bed. She never did take off the SAX KITTEN shirt, but it did not really get in the way.
And when they were done, after their breathing returned to normal and the sweat dried on their skin, they talked about it.
The next afternoon, in the quaint little thirteen thousand square foot mansion that Greg Oldfellow kept so he had a place to stay when he or Celia needed to be in Los Angeles for extended periods of time, another discussion of significance was taking place.
“So ... what do you think?” Celia asked her husband, a small amount of nervousness in her tone as she pondered the ramifications of the discussion. She was wearing a pair of tattered sweatpants and a tank top with no brassiere beneath. Her feet were bare and her hair was not done. She had no intention of changing out of her sleepwear today since she was not going out.
Greg, who was wearing slacks and a dress shirt even though he had no plans to go out either, was looking at a sheaf of papers in front of him. He had just gone through all of them, reading carefully and absorbing every word. “It’s ... well ... an interesting concept,” he told her.
“An interesting concept?” she asked. “That’s what you’re calling it?”
“That’s what it is,” Greg insisted. “Nothing is written in stone, right? There is no reason why there has to be a follow-through with this thing if the timing isn’t at its best.”
“The timing?” she asked, feeling a flush in her face. “You would disregard a gift like this because you don’t think the timing is right? That’s insane, Greg!”
“But...”
“And when would the timing be right?” she demanded. “Even assuming that this gift would be repeated at some point ... something that probably won’t happen, exactly when would be the right time?”
“I ... really don’t know,” Greg said, uncharacteristically at a complete loss of the ability to explain himself.
“You don’t know,” she said softly, her eyes boring into him. “Why don’t you tell me what is really bothering you about this whole thing?”
He did not answer her immediately. Instead, he kept looking at the papers in front of him, his eyes refusing to look up and meet hers.
“Greg?” she said, her voice a little softer now. “Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me why the thought of not going through with this has even entered your mind.”
“I told you,” he said, still not looking at her. “The timing isn’t...”
“There is never going to be a better time,” she interrupted. “My album is selling well right now and I’m just starting the process for putting together the next one. Your golf course project is on track and we’re in the middle of the waiting period for that environmental impact report to be done, so that won’t take time away from you. You haven’t worked as an actor in almost four years now. You need to do this!”
He finally looked up at her, his expression miserable. “I’m scared, C,” he told her. “That’s why I’m hesitant to go through with it.”
She reached across and took his hand in hers. “I understand,” she told him. “Don’t you think I was scared too?”
“Well ... yes, of course,” he said. “But this is different.”
“How is it different?” she asked.
“Well ... you’re a musician and I’m an actor,” he said. “Those are two very different things.”
“True,” she said with a nod, “but they’re both still entertainment. We were both faced with the need to pick up the pieces of our career and put it back together. I did it for mine. Now it’s your turn.”
He sighed, looking down at the paper before him once again. It was a movie script titled So Others May Live. Adapted from a non-fiction book of the same name written by a former US Coast Guard helicopter pilot, it was an upcoming project about a Coast Guard flight crew in Alaska. Johnny Sparks, one of the hottest up and coming directors in Hollywood, had signed onto the project. Vincent Scanlon, one of the most respected producers in the business had signed on to produce it. And Vincent Scanlon, who had worked with Greg Oldfellow on two previous non-atrocious films prior to that atrocity known as the Northern Jungle, had sent Greg a copy of the script and told him the lead role in the project, that of Lieutenant Michael Andrews, pilot and commander of a Sikorsky HH-3F rescue helicopter, was his to refuse. If he wanted the role, he only need give a token audition for it and it was his.
“I’ve read this script twice now,” he told his wife. “It seems to be a good, solid piece of writing. There’s no cheesiness in it, and only a token amount of romance between Andrews and the owner of a bar near their base. Most of the movie is full of flight time and rescue missions. It’s kind of like Top Gun for the Coast Guard.”
“Then what’s the problem?” she asked.
“Well, in the first place, it calls for on-site filming in southern Alaska starting in August and lasting up to three months.”
“What’s wrong with that?” she asked. “God knows you’ve done lots of on-site filming before.”
“True,” he said. “It’s just a long time to be away. I’ve kind of gotten used to us being together these last few years.”
“That’s sweet, Greg,” she said. “But what’s the real reason?”
He sighed. “I’m afraid I’ll ruin the project,” he said.
“Ruin the project? How would you do that? You haven’t lost your ability to act, have you?”
“I can still act,” he said confidently. “I’m not worried about that, I’m worried that people won’t even give the film a chance once they hear I’m the lead in it. I’m afraid they’ll just remember that I was the fucking nomad in The Northern Jungle and they’ll think it’s a comedy or, even worse, they’ll just conclude it’s going to suck ass because I’m in it.”
“Suck ass?” Celia asked, raising her eyebrows a bit.
He blushed. “Sorry, I’ve been hanging out with Jake a little too much, I suppose. You know what I mean though.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “And I think you’re wrong.”
“How can you possibly know that?” he demanded. “My reputation took a huge hit because I signed on for Northern Jungle and assumed it was going to be magnificent just because it had a huge budget and a famous director was going to be behind the scenes. I read that Northern Jungle script before signing my name, C. I read it and I thought it was going to be the film that got me that academy award! I actually thought that after reading that fucked-up piece of shit for the first time!” He shook his head. “I’m afraid my ability to judge a project based on a script reading might be in question.”
“Perhaps,” Celia said thoughtfully.
“Perhaps?” he repeated. “That’s what you have to say about it? C, my reputation is teetering on the brink already. It can’t take another hit. If this project flounders, either because it’s really not a great script to begin with or because people will automatically hate it before they see it because it’s me in the lead role, I’ll never be cast in another role again—not even those slapstick parody roles they’ve been offering.”
“That is true,” she told him, “but how is that any different than the situation you’re in now?”
“What?”
“If you turn this project down, how likely is it that someone else will offer you something with as much potential?”
“Not very,” he admitted.
“Sometimes you have to take a chance, Greg,” she told him. “That’s what I did by signing on with KVA and Jake. Look at me now. My career is back on track and I’m now respected as a musician and a songwriter. We might have failed, but we didn’t. And if we hadn’t of taken the shot, we never would have known and I’d still be languishing as a has-been.” She cast her look upon him once more. “You don’t want to languish as a has-been, do you?”