No Time To Wave Goodbye Part 5

In slouchy clothes, they congregated in the guest bedroom where Vincent was staying. Eliza laid the baby down. It was then that Vincent finally brought out his gift. It was a leather alb.u.m for the baptism thick with lined pages for names and memories and special soft sleeves for photos and a sack with a zip for the little satin vest that was placed on Stella's chest by the priest. Tooled in gilt was Premiere January 22: Stella for Starlight.

Lithe as a gymnast, Eliza jumped up and hugged Vincent. Ben simply tightened his lips and looked away, out the window above Vincent's head. Beth had to steal from the room and grab her Nikon from the table where she had left it. Kerry and Eliza settled on either side of the baby, their long lush hair like twin curtains. Snap.

Beth backed up to include all of them.

In the eggsh.e.l.l bedroom with its scattering of throws and pillows in white and pink and palest beige-with Ben lounging in an Aran vest with his head pillowed on his hands, Kerry barefoot in gray jeans and a pink sweater crouched on her heels like a dancer, Vincent in khakis and a cashmere sweater on the floor with his back against the footboard-they looked like found objects, seash.e.l.ls on a beach. Snap.

Eliza transferred the baby to her breast, the corner of a cashmere blanket over her shoulder-the only visible part of her granddaughter a tiny pink fist, displayed on the lemon-colored wool like a jelly confection. Snap. Kerry slid down off the bed and nestled between her two brothers, poking both of them. Snap.

"Tell Ma what you told us," Kerry said.

"About the phone calls? I got this phone call and the name on it said Al Gore," Vincent said. "So I pick it up, thinking it's, you know, Rob goofing around, and I say, 'h.e.l.lo, sir. How's the earth holding up?' But it's really Al Gore. He says he's proud of this kind of work! And I can't say anything. Then the call-waiting beeps in. He says, fine, just wanted to say hi. It says, Unknown. There's this younger voice but I know the voice. It's Michael Moore! He says, 'I ... ah ... just called because I like your movie. Made me glad I didn't make one this year.' I didn't say anything for a moment and finally I said, 'I'm in shock because Al Gore just called me.' And he sort of giggles and says, 'Well, you're not up against him, either.' And that was before ten. Can you believe this is ... me?"

"Hey," Beth said, and for an instant, all three of them looked at her. Snap. They were all alight, jubilant, uplifted in their eagerness-and facing her way.

It would make a glorious portrait, she thought, a birthday gift for each one of them. And it would have, had Beth ever printed it as she planned to do.

When she finally did make a picture of that shot, all of them were years older. But even then, she would recall the light and feel of that moment, one of the only entirely happy moments of her life.

CHAPTER SIX.

On the afternoon of Oscar night, before she left for the Independent Filmmakers Dinner, Beth treated herself to a last look in the mirror. She celebrated what the New-Age foundation garments had done to her waistline beneath the thank-G.o.d-it-hadn't-sold Carolina Herrera dress she'd found at the Lily Pad Designers Resale a few miles from her house. She marveled at her face, wishing she could somehow have it decoupaged onto herself forever. Her hair had been blown to appear as it looked in recurrent dreams she had of herself in the arms of her old boyfriends.

Ten years younger in two days, Beth decided. Easy.

She and Candy had had Botox. Botox! Just weeks ago, the idea would have knocked Beth off her perch.

But yesterday, all courtesy of Charley Seven-the reason they had tickets to the Oscars at all, and for fifteen people!-Beth and Candy and Eliza had been duck-footing around a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel that had been made over into a boutique, salon, and impromptu bar and restaurant. They were stabbing lobster-stuffed ravioli and drinking champagne. They wore haute couture jumpsuits and rubber flip-flops encrusted with sa.s.sy double rims of Swarovski crystal, which grim and glam attendants pointed out would cost two hundred dollars at retail. Their toenails had been seash.e.l.led beige and gold and their faces smelled like sour cherry pies from their Sonya Donye facial masks, rinsed away as they sat at identical sage-green marble sinks that were wheeled up to the banquette.

A long-haired girl in a black tuxedo vest and skinny satin pants had strolled in from another wing of the hotel and approached Eliza. She asked her if she was "somebody."

"Do you mean an actress?" Eliza said. "No. I'm just the sister-in-law of someone who got nominated for Best Doc.u.mentary Film."

"But you're going to the ceremony."

"Yes!"

"Would you come with me anyway? Just for a minute? My boss saw you when she pa.s.sed through and she has a dress she thinks no one else can wear," said the girl. Candy went immediately on guard, like a hunting dog-always alert to the possibility that someone would steal her little Bolivian peanut and sell her into s.e.xual slavery. But Beth poked her in the ribs and whispered something to the effect of asking if Candy was acting crazy and overprotective even for her and that Eliza was, after all, a police chief's grown daughter.

As she left, Beth and Candy turned to each other again.

"Have we gone through the looking gla.s.s?" Candy asked.

Then the skin people took over.

The two women were spritzed with toner and slathered with a layer of grapefruit moisturizer ("Makes a man see you as ten years younger," the slatherer explained).

"I know that much," Beth said. "From photo shoots. The needle biz is uncharted territory."

"I thought it was supposed to hurt," Candy said to the physician's a.s.sistant who erased the lines next to her nose and plumped her lower lip.

"It has the numbing substance right in it," the physician's a.s.sistant explained, offering Candy more champagne.

As often as Beth proffered her credit card, it was refused with a coffin-maker's smile by one of the identical Nordic supermodel blondes who stood in ranks at dozens of makeshift display cases. In the cases were tiny palettes of eye shadow and pots of lipstick and iPhones encrusted with the names of studios and KeeBee crystal-sprinkled hair bands and Gilson negligees and Lacoste watches with diamonds at three and nine. Eliza shamelessly asked for one of everything as Beth and Candy drew back in what they imagined to be some semblance of taste. But when one of the pale girls asked Beth if she would like the same, or perhaps a Vicky's bra sewn in real gold, she glanced at Candy, gulped, and said, "Yes. Yes, I do. Watches and ... and iPhones and bras. Thirty-four B. And one for my friend too. Same size."

And these things were placed into their hands.

Later that day, they played with their treasure on the bed like toys, letting six-month-old Stella giggle at the watches they stacked on her chubby arms.

Adriana, Pat and Beth's G.o.dchild, Petey Ruffalo's eldest, had spent the day caring for Stella, making sure she knew the baby's every need. Adriana, Markey's sister, was no longer the too-buxom high-school girl with braces who'd bused tables at the Cappadoras' restaurant, The Old Neighborhood. The rest of her had caught up with her bosom, though she seemed to have no idea that she'd broken out of her chrysalis. A demure pre-law student in the most unlikely place on earth for subtlety, Adriana took immediately to Eliza; the two of them were immediately promising visits back and forth.

But Adriana protested the gifts. "You guys enjoy this. I go to plenty of premieres because of Dad's being the lawyer for so many producers and stuff. I'm just loving all this. And Markey! My brother is over the moon. We're over the moon for him!"

"You're my G.o.dchild, too, just like Eliza. You have to take one iPod at least!" Beth insisted. "Take the Lionsgate iPhone! I like the lion." Laughing, Adriana accepted. "So it's law for sure, honey?" Beth asked.

"I'm not like Liza the genius or Kerry the artist. I think I'll be a chip off the old block. Work with Daddy doing bloodless warfare for neurotics."

Beth looked down and watched all the bling turn into so much carnival plush. She thought of Jacqueline Whittier, who had wanted to be a lawyer like her father.

"We'd better pack this up," she told Candy.

"Did I say something wrong, Beth?" Adriana asked.

"No, honey. No. I just never had Botox before. The anesthetic's wearing off!" She felt Candy watching her. "I need some ice!"

Adriana kissed Beth and headed for Pasadena, promising to be back at two the next day. Her apartment wasn't far from her parents' home. Petey and Debbie Ruffalo had asked the Cappadoras to come for dinner-and failing that, they had said they'd stop by the hotel before the Cappadoras went back to Chicago.

"She's a hero," said Eliza after Adriana left. "She gave her own ticket up to take care of Stella. I have to admit it's nice not to have to worry about the baby. I just wish we'd gotten here for the Vivienne Westwood Boutique. We could have had so much more stuff, Mom. I'm a very materialistic person, Auntie Beth. You know I intend to spend my life making up to G.o.d for it by being a doctor. But ... not yet." She smoothed the jonquil dress with its slash of wine-colored sash, and repeated in awe, "I can't believe she let me keep it. I can't believe I'm wearing it right now! She let me keep this dress and her sewing people just made it to fit me perfectly. And you know who she is, Mom? Her father used to be this famous singer ..."

"He's still a pretty famous singer," Beth said and laughed.

"It fit you perfectly because you're perfect," Candy said. "You have Vincent to thank."

"No, we all have Charley Seven to thank," Beth replied.

It was at Beth's house, at the party after Stella's baptism, that Charley, towering in green and gray like a cliff with moss on it, kissed Beth on both cheeks and said, "Congratulazioni sul bambina! Complimenti per tutto! Tutti i vostri bambini!" For Candy's sake, Beth explained what she understood-congratulations on the baby and all her children.

"Thank you, Charley," Beth said. "Eliza loves the cross you gave Baby Stella."

Charley said, "This little girl, I mean this little mama, Eliza, she was so sweet. She said, Grazie con tutti i nostri cuori. Said it perfectly! And I thought she was Jewish or perhaps Mexican."

Beth stared at him, as though Charley had asked her if she walked to school or took her lunch.

"She converted," Beth finally explained, trying to ignore Candy choking on her champagne.

Charley went on, "I'm an old guy, but I still got three at home. Six kids! I hope they turn out as beautiful as Petey's kids. Adriana is a junior at UCLA, but you are aware of that. But it's my nephew Markey that brings me to you now, Bethie. I have to speak my heart. Frankly, I didn't even think my nephew Markey could get it up enough to pull off a heist of eggs from a chicken coop, you should pardon me. But this camera thing he did with Vincent. The kid was on fire! And now it is nominated for an Oscar!"

One of Candy's overtime rookies pa.s.sed with a tray carrying flutes of champagne and tiny gla.s.ses with two fingers of Scotch in each. Charley picked up two of those. "Salut!" said Charley, draining a gla.s.s. By the time Beth and Candy returned Charley Seven's toast with sips of champagne, he had downed the second full shot, the tot of amber liquid disappearing as though it were spring water. "Now Markey has a future. My elderly father is overtaken with joy, Bethie. He has lived to see this boy we had some suspicion was frankly not quite right in the head do something perhaps better than any of the children. Now my father can die happy."

"Charley, Vincent says Markey really has eyes with the lights and the camera ..."

"That's what I mean! Who could have known this?" Charley accepted and swallowed another two ounces of Scotch without moving from the spot on Beth's granite tile where he seemed to have taken root. With the same amount of liquor in her system, Beth would have been on her knees in the powder room. "In any case, I couldn't think of a way to thank you. I forgave Vincent some minor debt, although he refused this and I had to be in contact with his partner." Oh, Beth breathed, thank heaven. "But I happen to know that these tickets to the Oscar ceremony are extremely hard to come by, not to mention the invitations to the ritual things the ladies like to do, the facials and the hairstyling and such."

"I don't know what you mean, Charley," Beth said.

"He means Oscar week, Beth. Don't you read trashy magazines?" Candy hissed. "Like even daughters of directors have ... face peels and get their hair styled by Kevin Lee and Sally Hershberger ..."

"How would I know about that?" Beth asked. Candy sighed.

"I hope I'm not being ignorant here or presumptuous, but so that your honored father-in-law and mother-in-law, as well as my family, and of course Candy and Eliza and Ben ... I procured such tickets and if you would accept them, I would be so much in your debt."

At just that moment, George Karras stood up and said, "I'd love to say something if I can. A really brief something, if you'll let me. I just want to add my congratulations to Vincent and Kerry and to my Spiro, my Sam, not only for giving us all a beautiful granddaughter but for this amazing achievement. And I want to thank Beth and Pat for your great hearts. For letting me have a part in the life of your boy I so love."

Beth glanced at Pat, ordinarily cool to George if he spoke at all, who had often said he would have been happy if Ben had never spoken to George again. Pat was dashing a tear from his eye. Would wonders never cease.

"So, Bethie," Charley Seven said again. "I wonder, will you accept this?"

In answer, Beth threw her arms around as much of Charley Seven as she could manage and squeezed. "This is like Christmas morning and ... and Stella's day rolled into one! Charley, how can I ever thank you?"

"Please," Charley said, the only evidence of what now had to be nine ounces of straight whiskey a few beads of sweat on his forehead that Charley delicately patted away with a pocket square. "The honor is mine. Imagine my father's face seeing Marco Ruffalo's name up there as cinematographer ... you can't imagine it."

Then Charley Seven said that he and Maria needed to get home now and that he would see himself out. Maria blew a kiss. Pat excused himself from George and watched as Charley walked, stolidly as a pyramid with feet, in a straight line to Beth's front door, which he opened and closed without a sound.

"What did he say?" Pat asked. "He crossed off the debt, right?" Beth nodded. Pat said, "d.a.m.n it. Well. We have to let him. G.o.d bless him."

"He'll die like a dog on the expressway," Candy said. "How much can a person drink standing up?"

"He doesn't drive his own car, Candy," Pat told her. "There's been a guy sitting out by the pool for an hour. He's wearing a coat but he won't come inside. And Charley's a very big person. In size, I mean. Not influence. Although, that too, apparently. Did he tell you about the tickets?"

"Yes," Beth said cautiously.

"I told him he had to ask you."

"Well, Pat, how do you feel about those tickets?" Candy asked.

Pat said, "Look, I have my problems with Charley Seven. But I'd have taken those tickets from the devil himself."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Beth tried ginger ale to settle the wobbles in her stomach. Waiting for Eliza to finish nursing Stella and put the last touches on her outfit, Beth felt as parched and nauseated as she had when she ran the Police Benevolent 5K with Candy.

Suddenly, the bedroom door banged open.

"Vincent!" Beth said.

"I'm sorry, Ma. Dad let me in. Is it okay?"

"Of course," Beth said. "I haven't seen you since you said you were having lunch with Barry Levinson and you were going to puke. Did you? Have lunch, I mean? Now I feel like I'm going to. I can't believe it's almost time!"

"I didn't puke. Rob and I went from lunch to some meetings."

As the rosy glare from the tall windows slipped away, Beth noticed that Vincent's face was so white she could see the blue vein in his forehead, his hair so wet he might have climbed out of a pool.

Beth jumped up. She asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Ma."

"What's wrong, Vincent?"

"We ... sold it," said Vincent. "We decided to sell the movie to a studio we could maybe work with later. In case we don't win. Think of how many formerly Oscar-nominated doc.u.mentaries you can think of. None, right? We really don't have much of a chance. But we still got ... a lot of money."

Pat and Candy appeared in the doorway with Eliza and Adriana, holding Stella.

"How much is a lot?" Eliza asked bluntly.

Vincent said. "It's three million."

"Dollars," said Eliza and sat down.

"And a couple points of the future revenue. Less the money we're giving Kerry and Ben."

"Huh," Beth said. "I'm glad I'm sitting down." She breathed, "Oh, Vincent. Oh, honey. You're a millionaire. With your second film."

"And I'm a thousandaire," said Ben, coming into the room, adjusting his bow tie.

"You're a hundred-thousand-aire," Vincent said. Ben grinned. Vincent looked around. "Winning would sort of be over the top now. Like ... too much to ask. Is this me or all the dope I smoked?"

"I'll ignore that," Pat said.

Vincent went on, "It's really not that much ..."

"In what universe?" Pat asked. "Come here." He held Vincent close and kissed him. "Buon lavoro, Vincent. I love you."