“Oh, my God,” Caroline wailed.
“I can never ever unsee that,” Emerson chimed in.
I stood, gaping in amazement, until Jack pulled my hand. I knew it was terribly rude, but come on. Hippie Hal and Mrs. McClasky. Mortal enemies and... lovers?
It just goes to show that even in a small Southern town you know is full of secrets, there’s still one that can shock you every now and then.
TEN
emerson: the dark side
The first two years I was in LA flew by. It was all a blur, really. Between auditioning and filming the small roles I was getting here and there during the day and waitressing at night, intermixed with the professional partying we were all doing, let’s just say there wasn’t much sleep. It was a good thing my twenty-year-old skin could take it like a champ and never show my exhaustion.
Two weeks after my twentieth birthday, I got a call that I knew had the potential to change everything. A new network was looking for an actress to star in four of its movies. It wasn’t big-budget, and it wouldn’t make me rich or famous. But a well-known director was backing it, and it would give me the thing I needed the very most: real, true experience.
When I answered the phone that morning, Morris Stevenson, the director, was on the other line. “Emerson, I need you to meet me for dinner tonight. I think you have great potential, and I’d like to talk about the possibility of you starring in these films for me. I think we could work really well together.”
I almost dropped the phone. “Wow,” I said, so flattered. “Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just give me your address.”
When Morris picked me up in his Bentley the next night, I have to admit I was impressed.
“Pretty nice building you have here,” he said, winking at me.
I felt so proud in that moment. I was happy that I had agreed to let Caroline help pay for my apartment, because maybe it would give Morris the impression that I was successful, that I was, indeed, the girl he should take a chance on.
Over caviar and champagne, we talked for hours about my career. I wanted to remember everything about this night, freeze it for the future. He was so polished and handsome. A real director who really knew what he was doing, who could give me feedback and help me grow. And he wanted me. Me! It was a dream come true.
When dinner was over, he asked, “Do you want to come back to my house and check out the new scripts I’m considering?”
I wasn’t stupid, and every girl I knew had a story with a question just like this, so it put me the tiniest bit on edge. But I didn’t want this night to end. So I said, “Sure. And I’d love to meet your wife.”
He looked a little surprised, but come on. Of course, I had googled him. I knew he was married.
I was pleased when we got to his palatial home and, instead of offering me another drink, Morris handed me a Perrier. That he wasn’t trying to get me drunk made me feel a little more comfortable.
Morris showed me his awards and his office. We were sitting side by side on his white banquette, which I was sure his wife had had custom-made for him, admiring the view of the Hollywood hills, when he leaned over and kissed my neck.
Honestly, it wasn’t a bad feeling. He was handsome and attentive, and he smelled nice. But he was married. So I pulled my neck away and reminded him of that. I’ll never forget what he said next.
“Honey, you’re beautiful, but you’re not that talented. You have one thing to offer directors like me, and if you can’t figure out what that one thing is, you’re never going to make it in this town.”
His words cut deep, because he had verbalized my biggest fear at that time: maybe I wasn’t good enough. I’m embarrassed to say that his proposition gave me pause. I had been working myself to the bone for the past two years, and I hadn’t really gotten anywhere. He held the keys to a door that I really, really wanted opened for me. For a moment, I pictured myself doing what he wanted me to. I would be his mistress. I would be his star. And, really, hadn’t this been happening since the beginning of acting itself?
But then I looked down at his left hand, which was conspicuously devoid of a ring. And I remembered that Morris had a wife. A real woman with real feelings who didn’t deserve any of this. And, God, it pained me to realize what doing the right thing was going to cost me. At the time, it felt like it was potentially costing me the one thing I wanted most, that another opportunity might never come along. I loved those days when I got to become someone else, but I knew I couldn’t slip into character here. I had to stay true to myself.
So I got up off the beautiful couch that I was certain had cost more than my last six months of rent and said, “Morris, I want this role more than I have ever wanted anything. But I’m not willing to disregard your wife, a woman who is worthy of my respect and yours, in order to get that.”
I wish I could use this as some anecdote of how doing the right thing gets you what you want. I wish it had been some triumphant story where Morris shook my hand and said, “Emerson, you’re right. A young lady with your morals deserves this opportunity. See you on set on Monday.”
But that didn’t happen. Morris just snickered at me and said, “You might as well pack your bags now. You’ll never make it in this town.”
I wish I could say that I walked out of Morris’s beautiful home feeling determined to prove him wrong, that I walked out with my head held high, confident in my decision, and knowing for sure that I had done the right thing. But that wasn’t what happened. I walked out of his house feeling defeated. I knew that some other girl would accept his proposition and that she would make those movies, have that experience, get bigger roles, and be on the way to the career that I wanted, that a million girls wanted.
That was the first night since I’d arrived in LA that I had called Mark. I had given him his space, had let him have his freedom. I didn’t want to lead him on, because I knew that, just like Morris, I wouldn’t ultimately give him what he wanted. I expected Mark to tell me to come home, and, as ripped open as I felt that night, I might have said OK. But he didn’t.
Instead, he said, “Emerson, there is always going to be some asshole out there who will tell you that you aren’t good enough, who is going to make you believe that you aren’t worth it. But he will be wrong. Because you deserve everything you want. I believe in you. I believe that you’ll make it. That’s why it was so hard for me to let you go, because I knew that you would be the biggest star out there and that I’d never get you back.”
