Arts & Entertainments: A Novel (20 page)

Once living expenses were covered, the deal didn’t seem so bad to Eddie. In any case, it was the only deal being offered. They moved on to the nondisclosure agreement.

“This is very important,” Alex said, “so I’m going to read all of it to you. Then we’ll discuss it to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Okay.”

“‘The parties enter into this agreement for the purposes of preventing the unauthorized disclosure of confidential information. For purposes of this agreement, “confidential information” shall include any information about the show’s production process not already publicly acknowledged or described by Moody Productions, as well as information about the show’s characters or story arcs that conflict with the depiction of said characters and story arcs on the show or in other works by Moody Production or with public claims made by Moody Productions. This agreement further bars the receiving party from publicly questioning the veracity of any element of the show in a way that will be detrimental to the show or to Moody Productions. If the receiving party is found to be in breach of this agreement, he shall be liable for a minimum of five million dollars in addition to any damages Moody Productions suffers as a result of the breach. Moody Productions does not need to prove any damages in order to enforce the
terms of this agreement. The nondisclosure provisions of this agreement shall survive the termination of this agreement. Receiving party’s duty to hold confidential information in confidence shall remain in effect until Moody Productions sends the receiving party written notice of release from this agreement.’”

Alex looked up from his recitation.

“Do you understand any of that in English?”

Eddie nodded. “No spilling trade secrets.”

“It’s a bit more than that. What it means, basically, is that this story is your story. Not just now, or through the end of this season, or the end of the show, but for as long as Moody is doing business. To take an obvious example, say a few years from now you’re tired of having a reputation as a dog. So you go on TV to say you never touched Melissa, you just did it to get on the show. You never once cheated on your wife. Now they’re into you for five million bucks. Doesn’t matter if the show’s long gone and forgotten. You get it? As far as you’re concerned, whatever story this show tells is the truth, forever and ever, amen.”

“Did Susan sign one of these?”

“Of course Susan signed one. Everyone signs them. I had to sign one just to negotiate these contracts. Moody probably signed one himself. And he’d sue himself if he broke it.”

Two days later, Eddie met Brian Moody for the first time. Only when he saw the man in person did he realize that in all the time he’d been reading about Moody he’d never seen a photograph of him. Someone in the business of manufacturing celebrities had managed to keep his own image entirely under wraps. He was tall and thin, with shoulder-length blond hair and a long, creased face at once undeniably ugly and strangely compelling. Greeting Eddie, he smiled widely to reveal a gap between his two brown front teeth. He thrust a cigarette into
his mouth, but it stayed unlit through the length of their conversation. He wore a cheap, ill-fitting business suit—not ill-fitting in a stylish way, but in the manner of a man who didn’t care how he looked. Eddie remembered what he’d read about Moody being a former priest. When Eddie extended a hand, Moody pressed into it a green rubber bracelet with “Justine Justice” printed along its edge.

“This is my new thing,” he said by way of greeting. “In honor of Justine Bliss. Every bracelet sold raises money for— what, Lisa?”

He didn’t turn as he spoke his assistant’s name. Lisa stood behind him trying not to be noticed. She might have been a shy child protecting herself with a parent’s leg, if that child also carried a clipboard and a six-pack of Diet Coke.

“Head trauma,” Lisa said.

“Right.” Moody reached into his pocket and pulled out several more bracelets. “Give these to your friends. Spread the word. We’re going to rid this country of head trauma if I have anything to do with it.”

“That’s really admirable,” Eddie said.

With no visible prompting, Lisa freed a can from the six-pack and handed it to Moody, who took three quick sips without removing the unlit cigarette from his mouth. He put the can down and seemed to forget about it.

“I’m excited to have you involved with us,” he said. “You’ve gotten a lot of people’s attention in the past few weeks. What we’re working on, the big goal here, is a live delivery special when Susan goes into labor. That means we’ve got to get the story arcs up to speed. Right now there’s about a one-month lag between what we’re shooting and what we’re airing. So when they start shooting you in January, that stuff will probably air the beginning of February. By the time we’re into the middle of February, it will be more like two weeks or even a
week in between. We’ve got a crew of editors and producers working pretty much twenty-four/seven digesting all this information we’re throwing at them and turning it around into hour-longs. As far as details-wise, your field producer—Lisa?”

“Dell is going to be in the field with them.”

“Your field producer, Martin Dell, can fill you in details-wise. Glad to have you on board.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Eddie said.

“Sure thing,” Moody answered in a flat voice that reflected the pained expression on his face.

“You’re the one responsible for determining the general direction of these story lines?”

“Arcs,” Moody said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Story
arcs.
Lines are flat and straight. That’s not very compelling. We’re trying to create story
arcs.
I consider story to be an area of core competence.”

“So you’re responsible for arcing this particular story? That’s your call?”

“It’s your call, really,” Moody said. Lisa pulled another can from the pack and handed it to Moody. He took the same three quick sips and placed it beside the first. “We’re pretty organic about all this business. It depends an awful lot on what footage we collect. We can’t just go making things up. It all has to happen first.”

“I guess what I’m asking is, I want to be there when Susan, when my wife delivers our babies. My daughters, I mean. I want to be there for their birth.”

To Eddie’s relief, the smile returned to Moody’s face.

“I can imagine why you would,” he said. “I was at the birth of one of my kids and it was all sorts of special. That was—”

“Clarissa,” Lisa said.

“My daughter Clarissa. It’s a beautiful thing. I wasn’t there
when the other two were born, which was unfortunate. But it wasn’t up to me. Their mothers didn’t want me there. That’s life. You see where I’m going with this?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Lisa?”

“It’s up to Susan,” Lisa said. “It depends on whether she wants you there.”

“Well put,” Moody told her. “I have a problem sometimes with indirectness. I’m aware of it, and I’m working on it. Point is, what Lisa said, so far as answering your question goes.”

“You can’t make any promises, is basically what you’re saying?”

“Here’s the thing,” Moody told him. “This is the honest truth. A lot of these kinds of momentous occasions can get—”

“Overhyped,” Lisa said.

“Overhyped,” said Moody. “Did you know that I’ve been to three Super Bowls?”

An awkward silence followed, until Eddie understood that he was actually meant to answer the question.

“No, I didn’t know that,” he said.

“It probably sounds like a pretty good deal to you. But you know what I’ve learned?”

“What?”

“Sometimes it’s better to see these things on TV.”

THE FIRST TIME EDDIE
appeared on
Law & Order
he arrived to the set and found more than a hundred people, makeup and wardrobe and catering and dozens of others whose jobs he couldn’t begin to guess, running around with headsets on or earpieces in, half of them looking perfectly assured and the other half completely panicked. Every task was unionized, so a gaffer could be fired for picking up a camera or a cameraman for touching a boom. Eddie spent the day standing in place, waiting for lights to be set up, hoping above all that he wouldn’t mess up when his brief turn at the witness stand arrived, which would cost everyone time and money and ensure that he’d never be hired again.

The director spoke briefly to the actress playing the Legal Aid defense attorney about to question Eddie, but not to Eddie himself, who didn’t have enough lines to merit anyone’s attention. There was no mention after the scene was over of how he’d done. He only learned that his performance was passable
when he was hired back the next year. Nor had anyone ever told him he’d done something wrong during that second appearance, though he was never called in for a third. There had been other television appearances, perhaps a dozen in all. The crew that arrived in the imperial suite in the first week of the new year reminded him more of his student film days than of those experiences. He’d expected the enormous space to be packed on the day shooting started, but only six people came.

For two weeks he’d been living in the four-room suite by himself while Melissa visited her mother in California for the holidays. The visit seemed to conflict with her earlier description of their relationship, but Eddie assumed that Melissa’s new fame had drawn her mother’s attention. Eddie should have visited his own parents in Florida during this time, but he couldn’t bear to face them. He couldn’t trust them to keep any secrets, and he didn’t want to spend Christmas lying to them. His unwillingness to lie about a young girl he was seeing was not a good sign, since this was about to become his whole life. From then on the crew would always be there, so Eddie would have to stay forever in character. He would have to inhabit the story completely. It was just acting, he told himself. But this flew in the face of his belief that acting was something other than lying. Besides, even acting had not ended well for him.

It was something of a relief, then, to see the size of the crew. Contrasting this production with the scripted shows he’d done gave Eddie the feeling that he was the professional among amateurs, that he was in control. The field producer, Martin Dell, helped put Eddie at ease. He was about Eddie’s age, and he had none of Moody’s eccentricities. He offered a firm handshake and what seemed like a genuine smile.

“Very nice to finally meet you,” he said. “I’m looking forward to working together.”

Dell moved about the room with relaxed attentiveness, as if already playing scenes out in his head. He waved over his associate producer, Kara, a tall woman with short red hair and a serious expression who introduced the rest of the group.

“For the most part,” she said, “you’re going to be followed by just one camera, managed by Hal here.” Kara gestured at a large, unsmiling cameraman, who looked like a stoic from some postmodern parable. He had a beard he wore shaved tight along his jawline, as if to suggest the presence of a neck below, but it only added to the impression that his head had been dumped hastily onto the mound of his shoulders. “Hal’s assistant, Kit, might also be helping out.” Kit stopped briefly to wave a hand before he went back to carrying heavy equipment into another room. Kara pointed to a South Asian girl who was helping Kit carry equipment. “That’s Roma. She’s a production assistant.”

“The thing to remember,” Dell said, once Kara had introduced everyone, “is that it’s called ‘reality television’ for a reason. We’re trying to capture the truth. Occasionally we might ask you to repeat something just for clarity’s sake. We might ask you to reenter a room for blocking purposes, that kind of thing. And we might ask you to be more explicit about some thoughts you have. But ultimately we’re asking you to be yourself. I understand you’ve got some acting experience?”

“I used to act,” Eddie admitted.

“We’re not actually looking for you to act here. We just want you to live your real life.”

Eddie wasn’t sure whether any of them knew how far they already were from his real life. They clearly meant to treat his relationship with Melissa as real, even when the cameras weren’t running.

“I get it.”

“That’s great,” Dell said. “Don’t overthink things. It will all be natural and easy.”

“When does Melissa get back?”

“She’s already back. She’s getting prepped in the other room. Once we get you miked up, then we’ll bring her in. Our sound guy, Yuri, will get on that.”

Yuri spoke rather limited English for a man whose job was to make sure their words were comprehensible, but he moved with comforting efficiency. He unbuttoned Eddie’s shirt and taped a small mike to his chest. While Yuri worked, Dell continued his patter.

“It’s been a little while since you’ve seen Melissa, right?”

“About two weeks.”

“In a few minutes she’s going to walk in this room. Naturally you’re going to be happy to see her. I want you to be true to that emotion. Nothing too dramatic, just try to convey the actual feeling you have. Then you guys are going to have a normal conversation. It’s all right to talk about the show— you’re nervous, you’re excited—but not too much. Don’t dwell on it. Just be excited to see her. And if you talk about anyone else, use proper names, not pronouns, so people know who you’re talking about. Does that all make sense?”

Eddie wanted to assure him that he’d received plenty of direction before, but he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be acting.

“It all makes sense.”

“We’re going to get the camera rolling. You hang tight. In a little bit Melissa will be here.”

He expected her to come bursting through the door as soon as filming started. He didn’t think they would waste footage on him alone. But this was another change from his old television days—everything was digital; they didn’t worry about wasted footage. The camera stayed on him for
several minutes while he sat expectantly. He thought they might be trying to draw out the proper expression of anticipation. He tried to produce that expression, though he’d just been warned away from any conscious performance. They wanted genuine surprise. He tried to convey his readiness to be surprised. Instead, he turned tense. His shoulders rolled up toward his ears, and his thighs started to twitch. He thought of his worst acting experiences, in the months after Martha left. He wanted badly for the cameras to go away. Finally, he gave up and sat down with his head in his hands. That’s when Melissa appeared.