The Jane Austen Society(20)

Monte was now sitting on the matching sofa facing hers in his hotel room, staring at the hair about her brow, that famous raven-black mane, wondering when that first grey hair would show up. Mimi was finally starting to look just the tiniest bit different from before—he knew the signs well, as he was constantly on the lookout for them, as if circling his prey for any indications of injury or fatigue.

“You’re looking a little tired, Mimi, although as lovely as ever. Is Terry running you ragged on the Western shoot? Those early-morning calls out in Nevada for his goddamned sunrises—what are you now, two hours in the make-up chair?”

Mimi shifted about in her seat, losing count of the number of references to her age he could make in one single ramble.

“It’s all good, we’re all wrapped up now. Angela’s going to be a revelation in it.”

He looked at her in surprise, unable to figure out her end game in singling out her much-younger co-star for his attention. “Yeah, that kid’s a real find. What is she, twenty? Twenty-one at most? You’d never know it—smokes like a teamster and swears like one, too. Hell, she even sounds like one sometimes—we’ve been working on that. There’s husky, and then there’s just goddamned menacing.”

On some level, Mimi always enjoyed her infrequent meetings with Monte, as his love of hearing himself talk and his need to put others in their place kept him so fully occupied, she could usually just sit back and think about something else. Lately that something else had been Jack Leonard, to her complete surprise and consternation. He was indeed getting into her head—and worse still, she worried that he knew it. If he didn’t before, that kiss a few hours earlier had probably done the trick.

Meanwhile Monte was talking about some poor “dimwit” actress, and her recent shotgun marriage, and a conflict of laws with the Dominican Republic over the equally recent divorce (Mimi had to hand it to Monte, he did know the law, at least well enough to get around it). She was half listening, sipping the second glass of Piper-Heidsieck that he had poured her, when Monte finished his Scotch, got up, and sat down uninvited next to her.

Patting her knee, he asked most solicitously, “Did he tell you, yet?”

“Did who tell me what, Monte?”

“Terry. Did he tell you about Angela?”

“Tell me what about Angela, Monte?”

“Her billing.”

“What about her billing?”

Monte smiled at her. “Well, I guess we could play this little game all day. About Angela’s billing going right next to yours, above the titles.”

Mimi forced herself to breathe. “But that’s preposterous. It’s only her second feature.”

“Yeah, but you’re both vying for Cooper and he’s the lead, so it makes sense, optically at least—or at least that’s what Terry thinks. Look, Mimi, I’m all for saying something to him—but I need to know how much you care.”

“Monte, what do you think? We both know I’ve been one of the top money-makers around here for years, and there is no way some novice should get equal billing. It’s not a question of anything but fairness—I’m sure Angela’s time will come, she is very talented, but her time can’t come at the expense of mine. That’s ridiculous.”

Monte sighed. “I know. It’s tough. But my hands are pretty tied. Terry had the right of approval over the credits baked into his contract on this one, given the Crawford-Gable-Davis debacle a few years back.” He shifted a little closer to her on the sofa. “Look, Mimi, we both knew this time in your career would eventually come. I’ll step up if you want me to, but I’d be a chump not to get something in return.”

His hand now rested on her thigh, and he was so close she could smell the mix of nicotine and Scotch on his breath.

“Monte,” she said with a stern look, moving his hand away with hers.

“Mimi, there’s no one else in the stable that can touch you for a clear two years. We still have to teach Betty Winters how to sing, and Janice Starling how to act. You’re still hanging on at the top and you know it. And I can help keep you there. You know how much I believe in you. You’re the face of the studio.”

“If I’m the face of the studio, then I should have top billing.”

“Mimi, look, I’m no one to talk when it comes to the looks department—thank God they ain’t paying me around here for that. But we’re getting test-screening feedback on the Nevada outtakes, and they’re all over Angela.”

“And?”

He sighed again. “And they think you’re looking old. Look, it’s been a harsh location shoot and in-studio will always fare better for you now. You’re on the Scheherazade shoot next, right?”

Mimi put her champagne flute down on the small table next to the sofa. “Monte, I’m not giving up my billing, there’s just no way. I’ve worked too hard for it. I’d personally rather never have to think about billing at all, but it totally matters in this business, and I am not stupid enough to give up something I don’t have to.”

“But that’s just it”—he moved his hand back up her thigh again—“you might have to, and yet you don’t have to. I’m always on your side, you know that.”

“Monte . . .”

“Look, Mimi, I just want to help you, I always have.”