Chapter 15

Jenny saw it all on the monitor in the corner of her office—Rita struggling with the scene, Gil calling for a break, the other people in the cast pulling back from her.

You should be thrilled, Jenny told herself, thrilled. Brian was in today's cast, he would be seeing all this. This is the person who understands your dreams better than I do. This is the person you left me for.

But she wasn't thrilled. Rita looked so young and alone on the set, the script trembling between her clenched hands. She was stiff with panic and fury.

Then on the monitor Jenny saw Alec crossing the set, coming to help the girl. Rita jerked away from him. He was patient, looking for the place in the script.

Why did he always do the right thing? Jenny glared at the monitor. Where did he get off being so perfect all the time? Why couldn't he screw up once in a while like everyone else?

She wasn't used to perfect men. Her dad had done his best, but he had been nineteen—Rita's age—when she had been born. And Brian, no one could call him perfect, except maybe his mother. But Jenny had loved both of them. So what was a person supposed to do when Mr. Perfect showed up on her doorstep declaring himself in love with her? She didn't have a clue.

I'm supposed to fall in love with you, aren't I?

That's how the story should go. She knew. She had been telling stories all her life.

But I can't.

There was nothing inside her to love with. When she had fallen in love with Brian, she had had a young girl's warmth and spirit. She had been full of a rushing, tumbling, sparkling energy, and her love had glowed. Now she was weary, weighed with doubt.

* * *

An hour later George was at her door, coming in and sitting down.

"I suppose you heard what happened on the Bond Street set today," he said.

She nodded.

"It's time to recast Isabella."

Recast Isabella. Jenny shut her eyes. Here it was again. George wanted to fire Rita.

"I know, I know," he spoke quickly. He knew what she was thinking. "I said that right after the two of them got married, but this is different. She's clearly not up to the work."

"She's had a tough couple of days, but surely we can't get rid of her because of a couple of days."

"The timing's such that we have to. Her contract cycle is up next week, and the next chance we'll have to let her go isn't until after the February sweeps. That's when you wanted her story to start."

Jenny glanced at the big calendar on her wall. George was right. If they didn't let Rita go now, they'd have to use her through February, and it made no sense to recast a character right after using her through a sweeps month. Any recasting should be done before.

The weight of the story about Robin and Colley's courtship of Isabella would fall on Ray. But Isabella would have some difficult scenes. She wouldn't know that Colley was homosexual, but on some level she had to feel an uneasiness, a sexual disquiet. And there was no way Rita Haber... Rita Haber-O'Neill was going to be able to do that.

"I know you feel bad about it," George continued, "but we aren't being unfair. We aren't letting her go because she married your boyfriend; we're letting her go because she can't do the work. She's done this to herself. You aren't to blame. You gave her her chance."

Yes, Jenny had given Rita her chance. Her chance to ruin her career.

She hadn't been noble when she had given Rita this story. She hadn't been bending over backward to be fair. Alec had been completely wrong about that. She had indeed been out for revenge just as surely as George had. Only Jenny was craftier than George. She had gotten her revenge on Rita by giving the girl exactly what she had asked for.

Jenny had known that Rita would not be able to handle this much material. It was too soon in her daytime career; there was too much she hadn't mastered yet. The girl had talent, she had potential. If Jenny had allowed her to develop slowly, she might well have become an important force in daytime. At the very least she would have matured into a useful, productive actress. But she now felt under siege. She would never in this production learn how to be an ensemble player. The damage done to her career might well be irreversible.

Who said that revenge was sweet? Jenny felt sick, utterly disgusted with herself. Yes, Rita had asked for this. Yes, she had spied the bottle on the shelf and pointed to it, insisting that it be served to her. But Jenny had known there was poison in the bottle. She should not have let Rita drink it.

George was still sitting across from her desk, waiting for her to say something. "We don't have to decide anything today, do we?"

"No, no." George stood up. "We can talk tomorrow."

Tomorrow wasn't going to change anything. Jenny knew what was in that script. There was a range of emotion that Rita couldn't possibly pull off, especially since it wasn't anchored in the story or the character. Isabella was getting angry at things the character shouldn't care about. Rita would be worse than ever.

Jenny watched George leave. The churning sickness in her stomach spread. There was no excusing what she had done. She had hurt another woman. She had done something wrong, and someone else would have to pay.

She found herself on the second floor in front of Dressing Room Six. She was knocking. She heard Alec's voice.

Why had she come down here? Why did she keep turning to him? Because she had no one else.

My Lady's Chamber

Script, Episode #684

LYDGATE: Those are not the Lydgate pearls, are they?

AMELIA: No. (TOUCHES HER NECKLACE) These were my mother's. I've always loved them for that. (SHYLY ENTHUSIASTIC, ENDEARING) I know they are small, hut she was wearing them in the portrait she sat for just before she died.

LYDGATE: (HE DOESN'T GET IT) Surely the Duchess of Lydgate should wear the Lydgate pearls. You must change them.

AMELIA: (DEFEATED) If you wish. (BEGINS TO TAKE OFF NECKLACE)

CUT TO: PORTRAIT OF AMELIA'S MOTHER, A LONG-DEAD WOMAN WHOSE DAUGHTER IS NOT ALLOWED TO WEAR HER PEARLS.

Alec opened his dressing room door. He was still half in costume. His coat was off and the duke's flowing white shirt was open over the slim black breeches. Cascades of ruffles spilled over his wrists and on either side of his chest.

"You know how you thought I was being so noble," Jenny blurted out. She knew she sounded belligerent, but wasn't this what he liked, honesty? "You were wrong. I did this on purpose. I knew this would happen."

He blinked. It was a moment before he understood. "I assume we're talking about Rita's material and her problems with it?"

"It made no sense." She charged on. "Why would the daughter of the house be talking to the new valet so much? One of the servants from the other houses should have been doing it. That's what I had always planned. Brian could have done this in his sleep. Or Trina, she deserves more work. I gave it to Rita because I knew that she couldn't handle it."

You thought I was wonderful, didn't you? Well, I'm not. So how do you like that?

He was quiet for a moment. "No one can blame you for wanting revenge."

"But that doesn't make it right." She didn't want him excusing this. She would cry if he were nice. "I was wrong and you know it."

"Perhaps you were." He was still calm. "But you might have assumed that the cast would have covered for her more. It wouldn't have been such a mess if she had had some support, but she didn't."

"That doesn't change what I did."

"No," he agreed. "But the system did fail. George should have seen this coming. I know you love it that you don't have to fight for all your good ideas, but that means that there is nothing to protect you from your bad ones."

Why was he talking about George? She wasn't going to blame this on anyone else. It was her fault.

He went on. "And I think you should ask yourself why you went after her when it's him you're mad at."

Jenny jerked. As a kid on the playground, she had once been hit in the stomach by a dodge ball. No one had meant to do it, it had been an accident, but it had still been a dull, sickening blow. She felt like that now, sick, unable to breath.

Alec was telling the truth. Of course, it was Brian she was angry with. Rita owed her nothing. It was Brian who had promised everything, it was Brian who had broken his vows.

But she had spent fourteen years trying not to get mad at Brian, fourteen years trying not to see his faults. How was she going to start now?

She was going to cry. In a minute she would be sobbing, and Alec would put his arms around her and murmur all sorts of comforting things into her hair. It would be the same thing all over again, just like during her miscarriage, and after Brian had left her. She would be the weak one, helpless, pathetic. She hated it.

She was not going to let that happen. She could face this with her chin up. "George wants to fire her. He's serious this time."

"You can't ease up on her? She may be very good someday."

"If she ever finds work again."

If My Lady's Chamber let her go, the word would be out in hours. Everyone in daytime would hear that Rita couldn't keep up the pace. Who would hire her, knowing that?

Alec was nodding. He understood. "Is there anyway you can monkey with the story to give her the year that she needs?"

Monkey with the story? Again? That's all she had been doing all fall, revising for Edgar Delaney, adding Hastings and Amelia's love story. There was so much to consider—contracts, deadlines, ratings. She felt she was stretched as thin as she could go.

"Did you have something in mind?" she asked.

"No, of course not. You're the one with the imagination, not me."

Jenny guessed that she appreciated that. The network executives never seemed to understand imagination. Half of them assumed that anyone could do her job, and they would come up with story ideas which were creaking retreads of things that had been done and done. At least Alec understood that this was something only she could do.

She moved toward the door. That was one thing she could almost feel good about. She had confessed, but her error hadn't become something he was going to solve for her. She hadn't become Chloe. She put her hand on the door knob, and just as she was moving across the threshold, she stopped and turned back.

"Have we ever said that Isabella is an only child?"

My Lady's Chamber

MEMO

TO: George

FROM: Jenny "When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Enlarge the Cast" Cotton

Isabella has had it. Town life has gotten to be too much for her. That's why she's been so wooden and flat during the last few episodes. (And you thought this was unintended!!) So her YOUNGER SISTER arrives to comfort her. She has all the energy and spunk we saw briefly in Isabella, but she's tougher than Isabella. She'll be able to handle things. And she'll get the Robin-Colley story.

My Lady's Chamber

Audition Script for the Role of Sophie Marble

SOME BACKGROUND NOTES ON THE CHARACTER:

For all that she is a wealthy young heiress, Sophie is a tomboy. She's alert, intelligent, talkative. She has little interest in changing clothes three times a day. The elaborate, artificial manners of the upper crust make her laugh.

Her beautiful older sister Isabella has always been an abstract ideal to her, someone who she was supposed to be like. But as she sees how town life has crushed her sister, she appreciates her own strength. Sophie likes herself.

Jenny watched the paper curl out of the printer. Sophie was going to be a good character. The audience would love her.

Ever since she had started creating this new character, Jenny had felt the darkness receding. She knew she wasn't over what had happened with Brian, but she now knew that she would get over it. She was starting to feel like herself again. It started with her body, the light, lilting, skipping feeling had returned. She felt eager to move again, she was back to her old ways of twisting herself up like a pretzel whenever she sat down. She was sure of her grasp, she was again interested in the way things felt, the warmth of a coffee cup, the soft knit of a shirt.

My Lady's Chamber

Script, Episode #692

AMELIA: Pearls, I think, Molly. Wouldn't you agree? With this lace?

MOLLY: They will look lovely. (SHE TAKES SMALL JEWEL CASE FROM LOCKED DRAWER OF DRESSING TABLE, OPENS IT, AND HANDS IT TO AMELIA. AMELIA DRAWS BACK AND STARTS TO PROTEST. THESE ARE NOT THE LYDGATE PEARLS. MOLLY SPEAKS QUICKLY) The other pearls, Your Grace... I know they are larger, but they have too much pink in them. The lace will look yellowish.

AMELIA: Oh. (SHE TAKES HER MOTHER'S NECKLACE OUT OF THE CASE AND HOLDS IT UP TO HER THROAT. SHE LOVES IT. RELUCTANTLY SHE RETURNS IT TO THE CASE) I don't think—

MOLLY: (OVER) Mr. Hastings says that His Grace sent word that he will not be in for dinner.

AMELIA: He won't? (THE TWO EXCHANGE GLANCES. A DECISION IS MADE. AMELIA TURNS SO THAT MOLLY CAN FASTEN HER MOTHER'S PEARLS. AMELIA WATCHES IN THE MIRROR)

CUT TO: PORTRAIT OF AMELIA'S MOTHER

The greenroom was empty when Jenny entered. Something must be delaying the cast. It was lunchtime. The deli platters had already been delivered. Jenny went over to the table and started peeling off the plastic wrap. How domestic she was becoming.

"Hello. Are you the new waitress?"

It was Alec. She knew that without even turning around. "Where is everyone?"

"Hung up on the Almack's set. You put too many people in that scene."

She knew that. But it was getting harder and harder to use everyone.

He had his mail tucked under his arm. "Look at the revised pages," she said. "Page seventeen."

He deposited his other mail on the end table and started to read the salmon-colored pages. There was only a brief mention of the new character. James Marble was flipping through his letters. He exclaimed in delight at seeing one from his younger daughter—this was the first mention of his having more than one child. "Perhaps we can bring her to town," he said to Isabella. That was all.

But Alec knew immediately what it meant. He raised his eyebrows. "So the sister gets the big story? And Rita stays with us?"

Jenny nodded.

"That seems a good solution." Clearly he approved.

She was glad.

The duke was to go out riding in today's episode. Alex had on tall riding boots with spurs. His trousers were buff, his riding dresscoat was a crisp dark green. There was no frill on his shirt today, just narrow vertical pleats. The collar was still open, and between edges of the starched white placket, his chest glowed bronze.

The night they had spent together... she had trouble believing that it had really happened. She had been so unlike herself, so full of confidence. Fulfillment had come so easily. She wondered if she could ever be that way again. As the weight of grief and humiliation eased, she thought more and more about it. She wanted it to happen again.

But she knew what Alec would say. Not until you love me.

People began to come into the room. Then suddenly it was full; all the cast members who had been in the Almack's scene were crowding in for lunch. There was no place for private conversation, but she remained at Alec's side, taking slices of meat and cheese off the same platter.

Murr and Frank—Lord Courtland and Jaspar—wanted to talk to her about something. They drew her aside. She listened to them while she ate; at least she was partly listening. She kept glancing at Alec.

Murr and Frank finished. Jenny moved back toward the table. Brian was there. He was looking at her, his expression puzzled, surprised.

So he had noticed what she was looking at. I can look at whatever bodies I want to look at. She smiled at him with a simpering sweetness. It was the first time she had exchanged any voluntary communication with him since the night he had left her house. And believe me, there are far better bodies out there than yours.

"A sister! What do you mean I have a sister?"

Rita's voice rang out across the greenroom. Jenny jerked around. The sandwich almost slid off her plate.

Rita was standing at the door to the greenroom, her face flushed, her gauzy white costume swirling at her ankles. She had the revised pages clutched in her hand. "Nobody said anything about a sister." She was furious.

The greenroom went silent. Everyone drew back, unsettled by Rita's anger, wanting to escape it. Jenny laid her plate down next to the cheese platter. "Yes," she answered mildly. "She's younger. Her name is Sophie, and—"

"I know that. I can read. Why do I need a sister? You're taking my story away from me, aren't you?"

Jenny didn't have to answer that. She had no obligation to tell actors about future stories.

"It's because of the other day, isn't it? Because I held things up for all of five minutes?" Rita was livid. "I'm not the only one who had made a mistake. What about the time Karen knocked over the dressing table? That took forever, but she didn't lose her story. I know what you're doing. You're trying to make me quit."

That was the exact opposite of what was happening. Jenny was trying to keep her from being fired.

"If I were trying to make you quit, Rita," Jenny answered, almost gently, "I would succeed."

Rita glared at her. "You're jealous of me." Then her eyes shifted, taking in everyone in the room. "You're all jealous of me. You've hated me since the very first day because I'm going somewhere. I have ambitions, not like the lot of you."

"Maybe what you perceive as the lack of ambition," Murrfield Thomas said, "is simply the knowledge of our craft."

This was the one thing that no one in the cast would ever forgive her for, saying that she was in daytime simply to learn her craft.

"I am not going to stand for this," she announced. "I'm going to go to George. He knows how much viewer support I have. He knows how important I am to the show." She slammed the new pages down on a table and stalked out.

Jenny started to follow her. She needed to stop her. Going to George was the worst possible thing the girl could do. George hated confrontation. Jenny knew what he would do if an actress burst into his office ranting. He would nod and smile, he would make her think that everything was fine, but as soon as the door closed behind her, he would be on the phone with her agent. The girl would be out of work.

But there was no point in Jenny going after Rita. The girl would never listen to her. She needed to act quickly. George was probably in his office. Rita could be there in two minutes.

Jenny moved around the table. She caught Brian's eye and nodded her head toward the corner, indicating that she needed to speak to him.

"You have got to go stop her," she whispered urgently. "You can't let her go talk to George. I can't tell you why, but you can't."

Brian looked at her for a minute, his face more cool and distant than she had ever seen it. "Why ask me? I just open doors around here."

Jenny stared at him. He wasn't going to protect his wife. But you did so much for me, back when we were putting the show together. Why can't you do as much for her?

Because he hadn't done all the work on My Lady's Chamber for Jenny. He had done it for himself. He wasn't going to do anything for anyone.

Jenny moved back to the table. She picked up her plate and looked down at her sandwich. Ten years in New York and she still liked white bread with mayonnaise. Everyone laughed at her for it, but she didn't care.

How could she have loved Brian? Had he always been so cold and selfish? Why hadn't she seen it?

She moved over to the trash can and dropped her plate in. She wasn't hungry anymore. She had done all that she could for Rita. She had failed.

A hand closed over her arm. It was Ray. "Can you hang around here for a couple more minutes? Alec went after Rita, and he asked me to keep you out of the way."

* * *

An hour later Jenny saw George in the third floor hall. It was clear from his easy greeting that he had not seen Rita.

She went into her office and switched on her computer, but she wasn't quite sure what to work on. She needed to find out a lot more about homosexuality in the Regency, what the upper class's attitude really was. That was going to take some fancy research. Maybe she should hire someone else to do it.

Everyone had always been telling her to do less herself. The show was making plenty of money. Jenny could get more help. An editor, a continuity person, a researcher—a couple of part-time people would make an enormous difference in the amount of work she had to do.

Now she understood why she had never wanted to hire those people. It had nothing to do with the budget. She had needed to be busy, desperately, overwhelmingly busy. That was the only way she had been able to hide from how empty her relationship with Brian was.

And suddenly there he was, crossing her office, coming up to her desk.

He hadn't knocked. Of course, he had never knocked before. Things have changed, Brian. You changed them. You must knock on my door.

He sat down. She hadn't spoken. "I know things are hard on you right now," he said.

Now that was interesting. After fourteen years he was at last admitting that something might be hard for her.

She still didn't speak.

"I want to help you in any way that I can."

Again very interesting. An hour ago he hadn't been willing to help his wife. Now he was all fired-up to help his ex-girlfriend. "What did you have in mind?" she asked politely.

"If you still want to do that look-alike story between Hastings and a nobleman, I'll sign a two-year contract."

Sign a contract? This was beyond interesting. For two and a half years he had been resisting committing himself to daytime. In fact, wasn't that the great appeal of Rita? That together the two of them would rise out of daytime? Well, Rita had almost been out of daytime, but "rise" wasn't the right verb.

"Why do you want to do that?" she asked.

"To make things easier for you. I know you've put a lot of time thinking about the story. It must be like money in the bank, a lot of the work has been done. I just want to help you."

The hell he did. Jenny did not believe that for one second. "That's good of you," she said briskly. "But you're too late." This was the truth. "We're working that story up for David Kendall."

"David Kendall?" Brian stared at her blankly.

David Kendall was the young actor hired to play James Marble's valet; he had been on the receiving end of Isabella's recapping. If viewers took to him, this was going to be another one of the big stories for the February sweeps. Into town would come a young viscount, a cousin of the Varleys' impoverished niece Susan. He would look exactly like his bastard half-brother, a valet.

"You're giving the story to someone else?" Brian was stunned.

"When we planned the story for you, we didn't know as much history as we do now," Jenny explained. "A duke's not going to hire a butler that's crawled out of the woodwork. You grew up on the Lydgate estate. We've said that a couple of times. And if you were someone's bastard, people would have known about it, kept track of it, and never put you in such a visible place. But a rich merchant might hire someone whose history was spottier."

"This is beneath you, Jenny. I had thought better of you."

No. What she had done to Rita was beneath her. That had been wrong. This wasn't. This was routine. An actor refuses a story line, so the story goes to someone else.

"You said you didn't want it." You've done this to yourself, Brian. "You said that all along. So I gave it to David."

"Then ungive it." Brian's tone was sharp. "The audience cares a lot more about me than they do him. Change it."

There was a white streak running around his mouth. He was raging inside. This was how he used to look at his mother. So I'm your mother now, am I? Keeping you from doing what you want.

What was this about? Why did he want this so badly?

Ten minutes later she was back at the door of Dressing Room Six. Ray and Alec were both there. Ray started to leave. "No, no, stay," she told him. "I need some information. Where are Brian and Rita living?" She had never thought to ask that before, but she wanted to understand what had just happened. She needed to know more.

"In your old place in Manhattan," Alec answered. "The Storage Shed or whatever you called it."

"The Broom Closet. Why on earth are they there? It's really small. It would barely hold his clothes, much less hers."

"I imagine that they haven't been able to find anything else."

Housing in New York was expensive. "But they have two incomes."

"Don't overestimate that." Ray spoke up. "You both make too much money to have any feel for this. But the amount Rita has been spending on her clothes, her fan club, her publicist, that's got to be her whole income. I don't know it for a fact, but I'd bet a month's pay that until she married Brian, she was living with her folks, not paying for food or rent or anything."

Rita had not stopped buying new clothes since she had gotten married; she had not stopped using her publicist. She was undoubtedly expecting Brian to pay for room and board, just as her parents had always done.

But Brian had always spent all his salary, even though he had paid for none of the expenses associated with the Brooklyn house. Clothes, restaurants, theater tickets—a person could drop a lot of money living in New York. And Brian had.

He needed money. That was why he had at last been willing to sign a long contract. That was also why he had been so angry with Jenny, why he had felt entitled to the story. She had been paying his way for the last couple of years; in his heart he expected her to continue.

Did he feel he deserved "palimony?" No judge would ever award it to him, not after he had left her. Even if she were in the clear legally, maybe morally she did owe him something for the year he had supported her. If he asked directly, she would hire a lawyer and come to some kind of settlement. But she wasn't going to offer. He was going to have to ask. In fact, he was going to have to beg.