“Not that hospital show,” Doug said. “The hospital show—ER.”
“Oh. And—?”
“I’m still waiting to hear,” Doug told him. “The director and I didn’t exactly hit it off. He wasn’t interested in any of my ideas about the character.”
“Ah.” Bob nodded. Another strikeout, he thought. It was too bad too. He’d seen Doug act on television and the stage and he had a definite presence, a charismatic masculinity. He didn’t understand why Doug wasn’t further along. Oh, the hell I don’t, he thought. Acting is on a par with bond-servanting. Too often, talent had little to do with it. It was who you knew; it was good representation; it was sheer good luck. At least for someone like Doug; he wasn’t exactly Robert De Niro or Dustin Hoffman. And even they had their problems. It was a merciless business.
“You’re a lucky son of a gun, you know that, Bob,” Doug said.
“How so?” Bob asked, genuinely curious as to what Doug was getting at.
“You’re a good-looking man,” Doug started.
“Well, Jesus, so are you,” Bob broke in. “Me times ten.”
“Yeah, much good it does me,” Doug said. “You also have a good marriage. Marian is a hell of a lady.”
“I buy that,” Bob said, trying to prevent this conversational approach from dipping too low.
“You have two healthy, successful kids,” Doug continued, making Bob wince. He really didn’t want to get into that area; it was too raw. He closed his eyes, wondering if Doug would be offended if he fell asleep on him. Probably. He opened his eyes again.
“Life has gone well for you, no doubt about it,” Doug said.
Bob didn’t want to start a hassle but he felt compelled to answer Doug’s remark.
“Well, you know, I had to work awfully hard to get where I am,” he said. “Marian and I had some damn lean years when we were first married. I had that night job in the supermarket, I was a bank messenger for a while, I worked in a hardware store for more than a year. It wasn’t exactly going that well back then.”
“No, but it worked out well,” Doug said. “You have your career, your marriage, your kids. I have shit.”
“Doug, it’s not that bad,” Bob said. Well, we’re into it now anyway, he thought. No help for it. Continue. “You’re a handsome, talented actor—”
“—out of work,” Doug interrupted.
“You know the way the business goes,” Bob said, “a month from now you could be in London costarring with Emma Thompson.”
“Not bloody likely,” Doug said. “And even if I was, I don’t have the rest. No Nicole. No Jenny.” His breath faltered. “Artie gone.”
Bob swallowed. Well, this was going nowhere fast, he thought. He should have gone to sleep as soon as he’d gotten into the tent. It wasn’t that he didn’t sympathize with Doug. He did—all the way. But what more could he do that he hadn’t done already? He felt a heavy sigh coming on and held it down.
“How old are you, Bob?” Doug asked.
Bob hesitated, then answered, “Forty-four.”
“I’m forty-two,” Doug said. “How old is Marian?”
“Oh, now, you know I’m not allowed to answer that,” Bob said, conscious of still trying to lighten the moment.
“Why not? Nicole is forty,” Doug said. “How old is Marian? About the same?”
“About the same,” Bob conceded.
“Sex still good with her?” Doug asked.
Bob felt himself twitch. What the hell made Doug think that up out of nowhere?
“Well, is it?” Doug asked as though he couldn’t understand why Bob wasn’t willing to answer the question.
“Well…” Bob didn’t know what to say.
“I imagine it is,” Doug said. “She’s a hell of a fine-looking woman.”
Bob didn’t care for the direction Doug had taken the conversation but he said, “Yes. She is.”
“Nicole and I had a great sex life,” Doug said. “We screwed like maniacs. She used to really get turned on by being handcuffed to our bed and raped.”
“How nice.” Bob knew it was an inappropriate response but couldn’t think of anything else to say. Like maniacs, eh? Handcuffs and rape? By Jove, good show.
Doug didn’t seem to notice the inappropriateness of his reply. Or chose to pay no attention to it. “I can’t say I blame her for feeling the way she does,” he said. “Most actors’ marriages are wrecked by the conflict between career needs and marriage needs. Actors have less time to devote to their marriages than almost any other group of men. The woman who marries an actor has to pretty much dedicate her life to her husband’s profession. Not easy.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” Bob said. He wouldn’t say anything about how difficult it also was for a woman to be married to a writer.
“Add to that,” Doug continued, “actors are exposed to more opportunities to fool around than other men. Actresses—I refuse to call them actors—almost expect actors to make a move on them. It’s part of the fucking game—and I do mean fucking.”
Bob had to admit to himself that Doug had more insight than he gave him credit for. For a few moments, he felt a sense of strange ambivalence. Here they were, lying in the dark wilderness, discussing things no primitive man ever discussed—or thought of for that matter. It was as though they were contemporary men lying in an ancient, timeless environment.
“Ever cheat on Marian?” Doug asked, instantly demolishing the odd ambivalence.
For Christ’s sake, are we having a goddamn sex seminar here? Bob thought.
“No,” he said.
“Oh, come on,” Doug said, totally dubious. “Never?”
“I had the opportunities. I didn’t take them,” Bob answered.
“Jesus,” Doug said. “Assuming that you’re telling the truth, you must have gone spiritual at a damned early age.”
“It has nothing to do with being spiritual,” Bob said. “It’s a matter of loyalty. Respect.”
“Yeah. I suppose,” Doug responded. He made an amused sound. “I guess you know it was my catting around that made Nicole divorce me.”
“Well, I—”
“Also because my career was going down the toilet, of course,” Doug said bitterly. “I wasn’t making enough money for the bitch.”
Bob winced. So much for Doug’s insight, he thought. I want to go to sleep, not listen to this.
“Ever think about going to bed with a man?” Doug asked.
Bob stiffened. Oh, my Christ, he thought.
Doug seemed to know what he was feeling because he snickered and patted Bob on the shoulder. “Relax,” he said, “I didn’t bring you all the way up here just to make a move on you.”
Bob’s breath shook before he could answer. “Glad to hear it,” he muttered.
“Well, I saw how uptight you were before when I was bathing and I thought maybe it was a problem for you.”
“No.” Bob wished his voice didn’t sound so faint. What the hell brought all this on? he wondered.
“I did it a few times when I was about twenty,” Doug said casually. “Then I decided that I liked pussy a hell of a lot more.”
Bully for you, Bob thought.
“Well…” Doug clucked. “We’d better get some sleep. Here.”
Bob twitched as something landed on his chest. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was an energy bar.
“I already brushed my teeth,” he said.
“Eat it anyway,” Doug told him. “Help to keep you warm.”
Bob grunted, then, obediently, ate the energy bar, visualizing the nuts and peanut butter in between his teeth all night. He’d get out of the sleeping bag and out of the tent and brush his teeth again if he wasn’t so tired.