Amy Sohn - The Actress

Maddy and Zack got off the U-Bahn at the Friedenau stop and headed in search of the cemetery. Dietrich’s grave was simple and dark gray. It read, “Hier steh ich an den Marken meiner Tage.” Beneath it was MARLENE and the dates of her life.

Maddy looked down at her guidebook. “ ‘Here I stand upon the border of my days,’ ” she read. “It’s adapted from a sonnet by Theodor Körner. It says he wrote it after he got a head wound during the Napoleonic Wars and thought he was going to die in the forest. That’s awful.”

“Obviously, the guy lived,” Zack said, “or he wouldn’t have written the poem. So he was wrong.”

“But he never forgot the fear, the hours he was in the cold, waiting to go.”

She thought again of her father lying there in the snow. And no one coming to save him.

Right after she’d gotten the news, she’d found herself unable to sleep. She would lie awake, replaying the last moments of his life, as though she could rewind and bring him back. The insomnia continued in Vermont, where she and Dan drove to make arrangements. She became convinced that if she had been with him the day he died, she would have skied with him and he wouldn’t be dead. It had been the weekend of Presidents’ Day. He had invited her and Dan up to visit, but she was working extra hours to make up for her time off during production, so she’d said no.

By the time they held the memorial a few days later, she was a basket case, not having slept one wink since she got the news. She’d made Dan do the driving because she was so frayed, she thought she’d have an accident.

She told Dan about the insomnia, and when they got back to Brooklyn, he made her see a Fort Greene psychiatrist named Larson Wells. Larson helped Maddy realize that her father’s death hadn’t been her fault. The lorazepam and Zoloft she prescribed had helped, too. Soon she could sleep, and after a week, when the Zoloft had kicked in, she became less obsessive. Instead of lying awake, replaying the end of Jake’s life for hours, she would do it for a few minutes and it would cease to engage her.

But while on the antidepressant, she went on a few auditions and felt off her game, unable to access her emotions. There was a part of her that felt she was cheating herself of the very valid agony caused by his death. She stopped the drug and terminated therapy, against Dan’s wishes.

As she and Zack walked down the paths, they talked about films. Zack had always liked art films but when she asked if his mother had gotten him into moviegoing, he said, “God, no. Bridget likes mainstream stuff. She can’t stand anything with subtitles or anything more than eighty-five minutes long.”

Clearly, he was trying to carve out a separate career, but when you worked in opposition to someone, it meant that person still controlled you. “Was she one of those working mothers who doesn’t miss a school event?”

He let out a high-pitched laugh, and lit a cigarette. “She missed a lot. I don’t think she ever really wanted to be a mother. She wanted to have a child. They’re not the same thing.”

“I’m sure she wanted you.”

“It always seemed like there were places she would rather be. She was always on the phone. I must have had six nannies by the time I was ten. Polish, Tibetan, Mexican, there were even a couple of hot au pairs from Scandinavia.”

“Did you ever feel resentful of her work?”

“No.”

“You didn’t think Steven was pulling her away from you? Any boy would have felt rivalrous. It’s very Oedipal.”

“You sound like the shrink I went to as a teenager. It’s funny you ask about Steven. When I was, like, ten, I had this fantasy that Steven was my real father. My dad had remarried by then and had two other kids, and I was angry about it. Steven was the biggest force in my mother’s life, and I thought how great it would be if he were my real dad. I used to stare at pictures of him and tell myself we resembled each other.”

“Did you ever ask Bridget?”

“I remember we were out at an Italian restaurant. She had just won some ‘women in business’ award and dragged me along. I burst out with the question and she doubled over laughing. ‘I can promise you Steven is not your father,’ she said. I got so pissed, I ran out of the restaurant. Later she apologized, said she hadn’t meant to hurt me. She said my dad had taken a test proving that he was my father and she could show me the results. I said no. I didn’t look at them till years later.” He shook his head bitterly. “It’s weird to think about that. I can’t believe I wanted Steven to be my dad, but the thing about Steven is, everyone wants him to fill the hole we have in our lives.”

“Do you guys get along?”

“Not really. He’s a seducer. It’s why he’s so successful. He manipulates people, and he’s so skilled at it that they don’t realize they’re being manipulated.” He began to talk about The Widower. He had hated it. He said Steven’s performance was phony and thin. As he delineated everything he disliked about the characterization, she saw his face grow hard. “So what did you think?” he asked with a hint of a sneer.

“His performance wasn’t perfect, but I guess I feel like he doesn’t get enough credit as an actor because his work is very subtle. To me, that’s the essence of great film acting. When it doesn’t feel like a performance.”

“Maybe you just have a thing for him. I saw you holding his hand at the premiere.”

“He took mine,” she said, her cheeks growing hot. She was no longer sure what had happened on the press line, not after what he had said in his suite.

“Whatever,” Zack said. “I saw the way you looked at him.” They had stopped under a tree covered with snow. A gust of wind moved through, and little flakes fell on their shoulders. “Maddy. You probably think I have a problem with Steven because of some unresolved anger against my mom. But I don’t. I’m not angry. And I don’t hate him. So when I say what I’m going to say, I want you to listen and not ignore it because of the source. I have known this guy most of my life, and this is not a role you want to play.”

Maddy was confused. “What role?”

“Girlfriend of Steven Weller.”

“I’m in love with Dan,” she protested.

“I know. But with you and Steven both being Bridget’s clients, you’re going to run into each other, whether or not you book this role. And if someday your situation with Dan changes, I wouldn’t want . . . How can I put this? Steven doesn’t respect women.”

“He has a woman as his manager. How can he not respect them?”

“She’s the only one. And that’s business. In his personal life, he likes his women pretty, dumb, and quiet. And he doesn’t like any for more than a year.”

She nodded slowly, trying to read Zack’s eyes. Doesn’t like any for more than a year. Maybe he was warning her that Steven was gay because he guessed she had a crush, and he didn’t want her to develop feelings. He was being protective. Or maybe he was just calling him a womanizer.

“Can I ask you something?” Maddy said.

“Sure.”

“Promise not to tell your mother?”

“I have no problem keeping secrets from my mother. I do it all the time.”

“Dan has a theory that Bridget and Steven invited me here so he’d have someone to see movies with. Because he’s gay.”

Zack had lit another cigarette and was examining the tip. “And?” he said.

“Well, there must have been parties at your house, I figure you saw people. Friends of his. I mean, it’s not like I care one way or the other, I’m just curious.”

“What are you asking?”

“Did he ever, like, come to your stuff at school?”

“You mean when I was in Peter Pan at eleven, playing the dog, did he bring some muscular guy with a Tom of Finland tattoo and a handkerchief hanging out of his jeans pocket?”

“So he brought girls, then?” She felt like an idiot as she was asking it, classless, overeager.

“The times he came to see me in plays, he was with my mother.”

Zack began walking more quickly, and she had to run to catch up despite his stubby legs. Not only had she failed to get anything out of him, but it seemed she had offended him with her questions. Whether he was being dense or merely protective of his mother’s star client, she could not tell. They walked in silence for a while, and when they neared the cemetery’s exit, he said, “If you’re so sure you’re not interested in him, why do you care if he’s gay or straight?”

“I don’t,” she said. Her cheeks reddened and she was ashamed. He knew her interest in his sexuality had more to do with her than with Steven. Whether Steven slept with men or women made no difference, because nothing was going to happen between them, except an audition. She would read with him and do everything she could to get the role. That was what she needed to focus on. In one day’s time she would be in Venice, preparing to meet Walter Juhasz.

Venice was like a fairy tale, with the thick February fog hovering over the Grand Canal. They flew from Berlin to Marco Polo Airport on Steven’s plane, and to Palazzo Mastrototaro by private motorboat. Steven greeted the grizzled captain with enthusiasm and introduced him as Giorgio.

They sat inside the boat because it was so cold and windy. As they made their way through the lagoon, Steven pointed out the island of Murano and the legendary Harry’s Bar. The palazzi were pink and decayed. Maddy was excited to see the city, which she knew only from movies. In film, Venice always represented love, death, or both. She could see why: It was a city of decay.

“Venice is ‘the most beautiful of tombs,’ ” Steven said, as though reading her mind. “Henry James wrote that. He was more astute on this city than anyone else.” It was a little pretentious, but his passion seemed genuine.

“Henry James is Steven’s favorite writer,” Bridget said. “Bores the fuck out of me. Some of it’s okay, but mostly, I’m like, skip, skip, skip.”

“How’d you get into Henry James?” Maddy asked Steven.

“I was in my twenties. A friend gave me a copy of The Ambassadors, and I went crazy for it. That’s my favorite of all of his novels. Since then I’ve read everything he wrote.”

“All I’ve read is The Heiress, for grad school, plus Washington Square. What should I read next?”

“Definitely The Portrait of a Lady. You in particular would like that book.”

They coasted to a stop in front of a grand yellow-white building, its windows shaped like suns. Young, handsome butlers collected their luggage as Steven greeted them in Italian. Everyone seemed happy to see him, as in a scene from a Victorian costume drama where all the servants loved the masters. They went up the stone stairs to the door.

“Would you like a tour?” Steven asked Maddy inside, after Bridget disappeared to make some phone calls. Maddy was overcome by the majesty of the palazzo but also found it spooky. She nodded.

“This is the pianterréno,” Steven said, “but it’s really the cellar.” They climbed a flight of wide marble stairs to a spacious main room. “This is the mezzanine, where the kitchen is, and the servants’ apartments. I’ve converted some of them to guest rooms, because most of my staff doesn’t live here.”

They climbed another flight. In the wide hallways, colorful chandeliers hung from beamed ceilings. It was glittery and otherworldly. The walls were done in marigold. “The piano nobile,” he said, “where the noblemen lived.” He led her down a wide hall to an enormous ballroom with marble columns.

“Do you have parties here?” she asked.

“I’m having one tonight.”

“Who’s coming?” she asked, getting excited despite herself. As anxious as she was about the audition, there was something magical about a party at a private Venetian palazzo.

“A cross section. Some writers, some painters, some actors. You’ll enjoy it.”

They left the ballroom, and he showed her a library with bookcases containing a mix of bound first editions of English classics, including several volumes of Henry James, and hardcovers of 1960s and 1970s American novels. He offered her a black copy of Portrait whose pages were so thin she had no idea how she’d be able to hold them between her fingers. The walls were covered with monochromatic modern paintings and photographs, a lot of squares and lines, no people. She approached one of them. “You like that?” he asked from behind her.