Amy Sohn - The Actress

“You know I do.”

“Then say you’ll do it.”

Maddy gazed at him as he placed his palm on top of hers. She had been feeling close to him since The Hall Fixation was released. He was happy these days. She was thinking about starting a family. She wanted him to stay happy and she worried he would become cruel if she said no. Maybe he was right about switching genres. No one thought of her as a comedic actress, and this film could change that, give her a chance to show she could laugh at herself. And she and Steven would be sleeping in the same bed. It could be like a working vacation. She wanted him to need her emotionally, but if he needed her professionally, that had to be a step in the right direction.

The moment Maddy peeled off the wet bikini in her trailer was the lowest she had experienced in her career. The bikini was orange, and underneath it there was elaborate padding and double-sided tape to keep it stuck to her boobs. She’d had to run down the beach, dodging machine-gun fire. Steven had been in jeans and a T-shirt because there was a running joke that Tommy Hall hated the sun.

The bikini had been custom-designed by a rising French designer whose name would be in the opening credits. The department stores would copy it so every woman in America could pretend she was Faye Fontinell. When Maddy did the scene, she could feel her breasts—or, more accurately, her pads—bouncing. In between shots, a bikini wrangler, a costume assistant, adjusted her tape and nipples. There were hundreds of fans gathered to watch. She had been working diligently with a personal trainer paid for by the studio, and she was muscled, svelte, and tan, but she didn’t care.

She had ignored her professional instincts all because of Steven, and it was dangerous to do that. She wasn’t some over-the-hill former ingenue in a slump. As Steven had predicted, the past winter she had received critics’ nominations for both the Elkan Hocky and The Pharmacist’s Daughter. She’d done the awards ceremonies on both coasts, scooping up three prizes. But as she thanked her directors and praised her screenwriters, all she could think about was playing Faye Fontinell. In February, when she had been passed over again for any Oscar nominations, she felt that Faye had jinxed her before shooting had even begun.

A wardrobe girl was at the door. Maddy handed her the suit, feeling like it was prison garb. She took a long hot shower, imagining that the water was a processing chemical spilling onto the film footage and bleaching the images.

Steven had two more months of work, but she would fly home. She wanted to be away from people, away from the industry, to hole up and forget she had ever done The Hall Surprise. The sex scenes had been nothing like the ones in Husbandry. These were scenes where the camera was the man, moving down her body lecherously. She could see it from her peripheral vision, with Bryan behind it, gleeful. It wasn’t that the Husbandry scenes were candles and roses, but they showed her pleasure, they showed Ellie dominant and vulnerable, both. Nothing about her scenes in The Hall Surprise showed character.

She’d sold herself out to make her husband happy. Her only consolation was that the film wouldn’t be out for another year, long enough to convince herself it had all been an awful dream.

Back in Los Angeles, Maddy had booked a female-oriented thriller called Amnesia. Two weeks before she was to start, the director was fired, and the new one wanted rewrites, so the project went into turnaround. She found herself with a hole in her schedule; her next job, a Mary Cassatt biopic to be directed by Tim Heller, was four long months away.

She was getting constant job offers, but because of Faye Fontinell, most were for action films, based on preexisting graphic novels or comic books, and the roles were as demeaning as Faye. Again and again she declined, even though Bridget urged her to take one, to capitalize on what she told Maddy would be the inevitable success of The Hall Surprise.

One night in August, Maddy called Dan, busy promoting his new film, Silver Spring, in New York, where it had opened in limited release. After receiving her check, he had written to thank her, saying he was “shocked but pleased.”

“Do you think I should take one of these movies,” she asked Dan on the phone, “just because I can?”

“Not if that’s not how you see yourself.”

“But what if that’s what I’m meant to do and I just didn’t know it all those years in scene study, memorizing my Fornés and Genet?”

“Do you really think it’s what you were meant to do?”

“No. But I’m not working, and Bridget thinks I should be working.”

“What about Nancy at OTA?”

“She doesn’t give career advice. She lets Bridget handle all that.”

“You can take some time to regroup. I never would have written Silver Spring if I hadn’t.”

She wasn’t sure what it meant to regroup besides read, swim, and miss Steven. She thought about flying back to Tulum, but didn’t want to be on that set again.

After Steven finished The Hall Surprise, he flew straight to Wilmington, North Carolina, to begin a buddy comedy called Office Mate, about the rivalry between two guys at a Web-design firm. His costar was Ryan Costello, who had been working consistently ever since Stick Shift did bonanza business. In that film, Ryan had gotten attention for improvising lines like “Hug it out” and “Walk it off,” and some of them were printed on T-shirts worn by teenage boys.

At night Maddy would talk to Steven on Skype, but he seemed distant and disinterested. She would hear men’s voices in the background, and he would say, “I’ll be there in a minute, brah.” His behavior was growing increasingly fratty.

Sometimes she would go online, type “Steven Weller,” and wait to see what gray words appeared after his name. It was always “Steven Weller Ryan Costello” or “Steven Weller Tommy Hall” or “Steven Weller Office Mate.” Though relieved that the first mentions were no longer of The Weekly Report or Christian Bernard, she had mixed feelings about the Ryan Costello hits. Articles said Steven and Ryan were having a “bromance.” They had been spotted at a dive bar outside Wilmington, playing darts, and had bought drinks for the whole bar. Some of the entertainment-gossip sites said they were having an affair.

One night she was sitting by the pool, talking to Steven on her cell. She could hear Ryan’s voice in the background. Steven laughed at something. “Do you miss me at all?” she asked.

“Sure I do. Oh God, I miss you a lot.”

“Yeah?” she said.

“Honey, someone’s calling me. I’m sorry, I can’t talk anymore right now.”

In the morning she went to take her birth control pill, and after she swallowed it, she threw out the rest of the pack. Maybe Steven had become this hyper-masculine man, this guy’s guy, because he felt distant. And maybe he felt distant because he didn’t believe she was committed—either because he suspected she had slept with Dan or because she hadn’t gone off the pill after three years of marriage. The more she thought about it, the more certain she felt. The key to the Ryan Costello problem was to start a family. If she were pregnant, Steven would know she was committed and maybe, just maybe, he would come back to her.

Maddy went right from the Wilmington airport to Steven’s sprawling eight-bedroom rental in Wrightsville Beach. She put down her luggage and drove to the soundstage.

A production assistant let her in, and she found Bridget by Video Village. “What are you doing here?” Bridget asked.

“I wanted to see Steven.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

“No, but he won’t be surprised. He misses me.”

“Honey, you should have told me you were coming.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t want to interrupt the flow of things.”

“I didn’t come here to see you. I came to see my husband.”

On the monitors, Maddy watched Steven rehearse a scene with Ryan. The two men were horsing around, and Ryan kept saying things under his breath to Steven, who would laugh raucously, as the director tried to walk them through their staging.

When Steven took a break, he spotted Maddy, frowned, and strode over. His expression was annoyed, not exuberant. He kissed her, but it was chaste. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course. I wanted to see you. I loved being with you in Tulum.”

Steven turned to Bridget. “Did she tell you she was doing this?” Bridget shook her head ominously.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Maddy asked. She could see Ryan behind him, joking with a grip.

“Of course I am,” he said.

Maddy stayed at the set a few hours. At lunch, Ryan greeted her but beyond that made no effort to include her in the conversation with the cast and crew, even though she was sitting right next to Steven. Her husband was his new best friend; it seemed in Ryan’s interest to be decent. But Ryan’s rudeness and Steven’s obliviousness, real or faked, made her worry that Steven had spoken about her in a demeaning way.

That night Steven took her out to dinner at a fancy French restaurant. He was distracted and antsy. She asked if he was doing coke and he said, “No, Maddy,” as if the question were ridiculous. “I haven’t done coke since the ’eighties.”

“Okay, fine, but what’s going on with you? Why are you being so cold to me?”

“I don’t like us to be on each other’s sets. Not for more than a couple of days. Couples shouldn’t go to each other’s place of work. It’s too distracting.”