One night when she saw that she had an early wrap, she made plans with Irina to see a Polish production of Waiting for Godot at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. During the year and a half since she’d left Brooklyn she had been in only infrequent contact with Irina—mostly by email—and was excited to rekindle their friendship.
She had her driver take her to Irina’s place in Williamsburg. With the sunroof open, they drove down the Brooklyn Queens Expressway to BAM and talked. Irina had booked a role in a Wooster Group production. Maddy told her how great Elkan Hocky was to work with, and Irina squinted at her and said, “You look really skinny.”
“I lost some weight for Husbandry, and then, I don’t know, I kept it off. We eat pretty healthy, and everyone in L.A. is low-carb, so it’s easy.”
“Is that Stella McCartney?”
Maddy was in a black knee-length dress with a poufy bottom and a double-breasted cropped jacket sewn onto the top. “Yeah, why?”
“I saw it in a Vogue spread.” Patti had helped Maddy select it for an awards show.
When they arrived at BAM, Irina started to get out first, but she was on the street side and Maddy held her arm. After waiting for the driver to open the door, Maddy got out, Irina just behind her, and stepped onto the curb. Immediately, the press started flashing pictures. Irina emerged beside her and moved out of frame, waiting for Maddy to finish. Maddy felt bad and pulled her in, spelling her name for the photographers. Irina seemed to enjoy the chance to pose, but when they got to the lobby, she said, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wasn’t going to let you stand there,” Maddy said.
“They’re not interested in me,” Irina said. “They’re interested in you. It was embarrassing.”
In their seats, Maddy could feel the tension between them and was unable to enjoy the play. Afterward, they went to a small wine bar on Lafayette where she used to go with Dan. At the table, they dissected the production. She felt like they were reconnecting.
They began to laugh as they split a bottle of Valpolicella, and as they waited for their entrées to come, Irina said, “In August you and Steven will be married a year, right?”
“Yep.”
“How old is he again?”
“Forty-seven.”
“Does he want kids?”
“He does, but I’m not ready. He’s older, so he wants to get started sooner.”
“You should wait,” Irina said. “You have time. Don’t let him rush you into it.”
The waiter brought their food. Maddy had ordered a large salad and a few sides, so it would appear she wasn’t dieting, while Irina got pasta in a duck ragout. “He’s not rushing me into it,” Maddy said while Irina dug in. “I told him I really want to be there for a baby, take time off, and I’m not ready to do that yet.”
“But you’ll have nannies.”
“Sitters, maybe. I don’t know if we’d have a live-in.”
“You’ll definitely have live-ins. You guys are rich as shit.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Are you saying you’re not?”
“No, but—”
“Why are you trying to pretend you’re the same person you used to be? Nothing about you is the same. You dress differently. That dress cost, like, five thousand dollars.”
“I got this dress for my career. If you were photographed all the time, you’d have to be careful what you wore, too.”
“Why don’t you admit that you like being famous? Standing on press lines and hiring private cars.”
“I thought you would like the car, so we wouldn’t have to take the train. I wanted us to have fun tonight.”
“You had to impress me. Show off. I didn’t have to go to an opening-night thing at BAM. I would have been happy to go to a bar. Just catch up with you. Or hang out at my loft.”
Maddy realized she had botched it. She had brought Irina to her turf instead of the other way around. “I promise you, I wasn’t trying to show off,” she said, “but I can see how you would think that. I’m sorry.”
Irina chugged her wine and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It left a mark by her lower lip, like a half-smile, except she wasn’t smiling. “I don’t know why you wanted to see me.”
“I miss you. I thought we could talk. Maybe not pick up exactly where we left off—but—talk about things. You think my life in L.A. is so perfect, but it’s not.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard making new friends, and the women are sort of dumb, and I don’t have anyone I can really talk to about my personal life, so—”
“What about your personal life?” Irina said, setting down her glass. “What do you want to talk about?”
Maddy wanted to tell Irina everything, about how hard the Weekly Report story had been on the marriage, and the boat trip with Terry, and the neck mark, and even her night with Dan a month ago. She wanted to ask if Irina thought she had made a mistake in marrying Steven. But she was used to having to keep everything close to the bone, for fear of the paparazzi and the Internet bloggers. She realized she wasn’t sure she’d be able to open up to Irina even if she wanted to.
“I don’t know, everyone’s watching us so closely all the time. It can be stressful. The first year of marriage is hard enough, but then there’s all this other stuff.” The car with shaded windows. Private dinners in the mansion, so there would be no worries about the paps. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who used the word “paps.”
“Are you happy with him?”
“Of course I am. I’m very happy.”
Irina scooted back in her chair, which made a loud noise as it scraped against the floor. “See? You don’t really want to be friends.”
“But I do!”
“You won’t even talk to me. What’s the point? I’m just some symbol of your authenticity. I’m your arm candy. You’re different. The way you preened for the cameras, you were so into it.”
“I wasn’t preening. I was posing. You would understand if you . . . if you . . .”
“You’ve bought in to the bullshit. You pretend you haven’t—‘Oh, BAM, it’s in Brooklyn, it’s so edgy, so authentic’—but we might as well be in Manhattan. This neighborhood isn’t even black anymore. You have changed. Even if you think you haven’t.”
Irina plopped some money on the table and dashed out, leaving Maddy alone. A woman at the next table did a double take when she saw her. Maddy got the bill and left. The car was waiting outside.
Back in the loft, she wrote a check for $25,000 made out to Dan Ellenberg and arranged for FedEx to pick it up.
She took her laptop into bed and got Steven on Skype. They’d been trying to Skype once a day. He had started a cop comedy, set in Boston but shooting in L.A., called Booked.
When he answered, she could see that he was in his study. “Hey,” he said, but his eyes were flicking to the side.
“I had a fight with Irina,” she said.
“Who?”
“My friend. From The New School. I’ve told you about her. We went to see this play at BAM and—” She heard voices in the background, followed by laughter. It sounded like women and men. “Who is that?”
“I’m having a little get-together. Some people from the movie.” There were at least three or four voices. She was surprised he would let guests into the study, since nowadays he kept it locked.
“Oh. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you what ha—”
“It’s not a good time. I’ll try you tomorrow, okay?” The image froze. He had closed his laptop without saying goodbye.