Once in a Lifetime (27 page)

"You've got one hell of a terrific kid, Daff."

"I know." There was little she could say, whatever happened tonight seemed to bring tears to her eyes and they came again as she smiled at Barbara. Then she went into her office to call Matt, and when he answered, she spoke in a tremulous voice. "He made it, Matt... he made it!" She tried to tell him about the trip, but halfway through she began to cry, in great gulping sobs of relief that he understood as he waited.

"It's all right, Daff ... it's okay ... it's okay." His voice was gentle and soothing from three thousand miles away, and it was like being held in his arms as her sobs subsided. "He's going to make it from now on. There will be ups and downs in his life, but he's going to be just fine. You gave him what he needed, and that's the most beautiful thing you could give him." But she knew that Matthew and the others had given him something too, something she could never have given him. And she had only had the wisdom to let them.

"Thank you." He knew what she meant, and for the first time in years he felt his own eyes fill with tears, and it was only with the greatest effort that he managed not to tell her that he loved her.

The trip to Disneyland was a huge success, and Barbara and Daphne enjoyed it as much as Andrew. They spent another day going to Knotts Berry Farm, went to the La Brea Tar Pits one afternoon, and Comstock Studios for a tour, and every afternoon they swam at their pool. The two weeks of his visit went all too quickly, and it seemed only moments later that their last day had come, and they sat at the pool, signing quietly. His eyes were grave as he told her all the things he had liked best, and how much he liked Barbara. Daphne smiled, told him she liked him a lot too, and then was startled at his next question.

"Are you ever going to be like her, Mom?"

"What do you mean?" She signed the answer slowly. It had never occurred to her to be "like" Barbara.

"You know, with somebody who loves you." He had met Tom and liked him too, "almost as much as Matthew," he had signed, which was the highest form of praise from Andrew. But he had just brought up a very tough question. It dawned on her too that not so long before they would never have been able to have this conversation. He was able to express himself now with extraordinary depth, by signing, and he accurately lip-read almost every conversation. There were no longer locked doors between her and her child, they had all been unlocked by the people who loved him at Howarth. But as she thought of them for a moment, Andrew repeated the question.

"I don't know, Andrew. You don't just find someone. It's a rare and special thing."

"But it happened to you before."

"Yes, it did." There was a wistfulness in her eyes he had never seen as she answered. "With your Dad."

"And John." He was still faithful to the memory of his friend, and she nodded.

"Yes."

"I'd like to have a Daddy like Matthew."

"Would you?" She smiled gently, half sad, half amused. No matter how hard she tried, there was always something she wasn't giving him, something she couldn't do. Now it was giving him a Daddy. "Don't you think you could be happy with just me?" It was a serious question, and she watched his eyes and his hands as he signed the answer.

"Yes. But look how happy Barbara is with Tom." She chuckled then, he was almost nagging, but he had made his point, and it was a tough one.

"What they have is very special, Andrew. You don't fall in love every day. Sometimes that happens only once in a lifetime."

"You work too much." He looked annoyed. "You never go out." How could he be so young and know so much?

"That's because I want to finish my work so I can come home to you." He seemed appeased by that, but when they went inside for lunch, Daphne was still thinking with amazement of what he had said. He was beginning to see her as she was, with her fears and her flaws as well as her virtues. He was growing up, more than just to take an airplane alone. He was doing his own thinking. And she was even more proud of him for that.

"Maybe I don't need a man like Barbara does." She brought the subject up again herself after lunch, as though to convince him.

"Why not?"

"I have you." She grinned at him over dessert.

"That's silly. I'm just your little boy." He looked at her as though she were really dumb and she laughed.

"You drive a hard bargain, don't you?"

He looked confused at the signed words, and she said, "Never mind. We'd better get ready or we'll miss your plane."

And this time the parting was far from easy. Neither of them knew for sure when they would see each other again, and he clung to her with tears rolling down his cheeks as Daphne fought to retain her composure.

"I promise, you'll come back soon, sweetheart. And if I can, I'll come to New York for a few days."

"But you'll be too busy with your movie." It was a sad little garbled wail. He had been speaking a lot since he had been there.

"I'll try though, I'll really try. And you try too ... not to be sad, and to have a good time with your friends at school. Think of all the terrific stuff you have to tell them." But neither of them were thinking of that as the stewardess led him to the plane. He was suddenly only a seven-and-a-half-year-old boy aching for his mother, and she felt the most vital part of her being, being torn from her heart once again. How often she had known that pain, and yet each time it came again it seemed like the first time.

Barbara said nothing as Daphne cried, staring blindly at the plane, she simply put an arm around her shoulders and held her close. They waved frantically as the plane pulled away but they never knew if he saw them. And the trip back to the house was silent and somber. Daphne went to her room when she got home and this time she didn't call Matthew, he called her. He could hear instantly from her voice how she was feeling, and he knew she would, which was why he had called her.

"I bet you feel like shit, huh, Daff?"

She smiled through her tears and nodded. "Yeah.

It was harder this time than it's ever been. It's different when I leave him at the school."

"Look at it this way, even that isn't forever. One of these days he'll be home with you for good."

She blew her nose and took a deep breath. "It's hard to imagine that day will come."

"It will. It won't be long. And for the next couple of months you're going to be awfully busy with your movie."

"I wish I'd never signed the damn contract. I should be in New York, near Andrew." But they both knew that she didn't entirely believe it. It was in part a reaction to his leaving.

"Well, then hurry up and finish the damned thing so you can come home. I wouldn't mind that either. Hell, you're the only parent I can complain to." She laughed into the phone and lay back on her bed.

"Christ, Matt, sometimes life is so tough."

"You've been through worse."

"Thanks for reminding me." But she was still smiling.

"My pleasure. Anytime." They had a comfortable banter between them, and she seemed to tell him about all of her problems, all of which either centered around work or Andrew, there was nothing much else to tell him. "When do you start the movie?"

"Day after tomorrow. The actors have been having fittings for costumes, 'wardrobing,' they call it, for the last two weeks. But they don't really start filming for another two days. I don't have to be on the set until then. I'll probably have to rewrite scenes and just watch how it's going. From here on out I'm basically just an adviser. The directors and the actors do all the work' now."

"Have you met the actors yet?"

"Yeah, all except for Justin Wakefield. He was in South America on location, and I don't think he got in until a couple of days ago."

"You'll have to tell me what he's like." There was something new in his voice, but she didn't recognize it.

"Probably an asshole, I suspect. Anyone that good-looking has to be spoiled rotten."

"Maybe not. He may be a very nice man."

"Just so he does a decent job with the movie, that's really all I care about." It was a story about a modern-day man who was part Apache, what it meant to him, and the responsibilities and problems and joys it carried through his entire lifetime, as he turned his back on what he was and then eventually embraced it. It was a story about manhood and self-acceptance, independent of racial themes. It was a powerful story, and it surprised everyone that a woman had written it. But if Justin Wakefield did it right, it could win him an Academy Award, and Daphne suspected he knew it. He was a spectacular blond hero, idolized by almost every woman in the country, and he would bring something to it that should make Apache a sure hit. "At least we know he can act."

"If you have a minute, call and tell me how it's going."

"I will, and I want to know how Andrew is, no matter how busy I am. I should have a number at the studio where you can reach me. I'll call you as soon as I know what it is." Eventually they would go on location in Wyoming, but that wouldn't be for several months. First they would shoot the local scenes.

"I'll call you later too, when Andrew gets in."

"Thanks, Matt." As usual, he had brought her comfort, and she felt less distraught at the departure of her son. "Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Who does this for you?"

"What?" He didn't understand.

"Comfort you. You're always there for me, it's not really fair." He was the only person she had leaned on in years, and sometimes she felt guilty.

"You pay a price for the people you love in life, Daff. I don't need to tell you that." She nodded silently at her end. He was right. And she had. "I'll call you later."

"Thanks." They hung up then and she wondered what she had done before there had been Matthew.

The making of the movie Apache began on an indoor set on Sound Stage A of Comstock Studios at five fifteen on a Tuesday morning. It should have started on Monday but didn't because the female lead, Maureen Adams, had the flu. According to the production manager's computations, the delay cost the studio several thousand dollars, but that was calculated into the budget, and it gave Justin Wakefield an extra day he needed to study the script and confer with the director, in this case Howard Stern, an old Hollywood pro, given to cigars and cowboy boots and fits of bellowing at his actors, but also a genius recognized by his peers, and known for making brilliant films. Daphne had been immensely pleased to learn that he was the director.

Daphne got up at three thirty that morning, showered, dressed, made scrambled eggs for herself and Barbara, and was ready to leave the house at quarter to five. The limousine was waiting, and they arrived on the set at exactly the appointed hour to find most of the crew gathered there, and the director already smoking cigars and eating donuts with the cameramen. Maureen Adams was having her makeup done. Justin Wakefield was nowhere to be seen. Daphne said good morning to the studio men who had shown up just to make sure that everything was going smoothly and was introduced to the director, who stuffed his donut in his shirt pocket and looked at her piercingly for a moment before holding out his hand with a broad grin.

"Awful little, aren't you? But good-looking, damn good-looking." And then he bent toward her, whispering to her with a smile, "You ought to be in the movie."

"Oh, God, no!" She held up a hand in protest, laughing. He was an amazing-looking man, well into his sixties with a face full of lines, hard won, hard earned, and somehow his face looked better for them. He wasn't a handsome man, and had been even less so in his early years, but Daphne instantly liked him. And she sensed that he liked her.

"Excited about your first film, Miss Fields?" He waved toward two chairs and they sat down together, his enormous frame filling his chair, and hers looking almost childlike as she looked at him and smiled again.

"Yes, very excited, Mr. Stern."

"So am I. I liked your book. In fact, I liked it a great deal. It's going to make one hell of a movie. And I like your script." And then with a noncommittal look, "Justin Wakefield does too. Have you met him before?" He eyed Daphne, thinking his own thoughts.

"No, I haven't met him yet."

He nodded slowly. "Interesting man. Intelligent, for an actor. But don't forget that's what he is." He looked her over appraisingly. "They're all the same. I know from years of working with them. There's a piece missing from them all, and something extra added, something childlike and free and wonderful. They're hard to resist. But they're selfish and spoiled and egocentric. They don't give a damn how you are, most of them, they only care how they are. It'll shock you when you first see it, but if you watch them closely, you'll see a similarity of character. After a while it's all very clear. There are exceptions of course"--he named a few, names she had heard of and seen on the screen--"but they're rare. The rest are ..."He hesitated and smiled, as though he knew a secret she did not, but would learn soon. "Well... they're actors. Remember that, Miss Fields, it will help you to keep your sanity in the next months. They'll drive you crazy, and me too. But in the end we'll have a remarkable picture, and it will all be worthwhile, we'll all hold hands and cry and kiss good-bye. And the fights will be forgotten/the jealousies, the feuds. We'll remember the jokes, the laughs, the extraordinary moments. There's a kind of magic to all this...." He waved an arm, taking in the entire stage with a majestic sweep. And then he stood up, and bowed, and his eyes laughed into hers, and off he went to confer with his cameramen again. Daphne felt more than a little in awe of him and the entire scene, and she sat watching silently as grips and extras and wardrobe people and sound men and lighting engineers came and went, performing mysterious tasks, until at last at seven thirty there was a sudden stir, a heightened sense of tension all around them, and she correctly sensed that they were about to begin.

Almost at the very moment that the flurry of activity seemed greatest, she noticed a man leave a dressing room in a T-shirt and a parka, sneakers and no socks, his thick blond hair falling across his forehead in a boyish way. He sauntered toward her looking tentative and shy, and then eventually sat down in the chair Howard Stern had sat in long before. He glanced at Daphne, at the set, and then back to her, looking taut and nervous, and she smiled at him, knowing just how he felt and wondering who he was.