Joey gurgles in his stroller and starts to fidget and fuss. I gave him a bottle before we got here, so I can’t imagine what he wants. Tatum can tell these things on instinct. Like, she’ll be in our garage (newly converted to a gym) on the Pilates reformer, hear his cry, and run out and say:Diaper!Or be nose-deep in one of the half-dozen scripts she has piled high on our kitchen counter, listen to a wail over the baby monitor, and pull out her boob on the way to his room. Today, I pop a pacifier into his mouth and hope it holds.
Spencer leans closer. “I hope your balls haven’t been cut off now that your wife is a big shot.”
I laugh because I don’t know what else to do.
“I assure you, I still very much have my balls, Spencer. Big balls. Huge balls.”
I’ve been with Spencer sinceRomanticah, but he is oily, in his expensive suit, with his whitened teeth, with his slicked-back hair, with his pores practically oozing ambition. It occurs to me, as the waiter brings us Diet Cokes and forgets about Spencer’s no-bread missive until Spencer nearly snaps his hand off when he offers it, that I don’t particularly like the man in charge of the trajectory of my career.
“I wantReaganto go, Spencer. I believe in it. It’s the project of a lifetime.”
He ignores me. “Alcatrazis a hit or at least enough of one. They’re gonna give you two more seasons at least. You can count on that. For sure.”
Joey’s pacifier has fallen on the floor, and a waitress with ample cleavage stoops to grab it, then cleans it with a napkin.
“He’s adorable,” she says.
When she heads back to the kitchen, Spencer whispers, “You should totally tap that ass.”
“OK, I’ll get right on that.”
“Hey,” he says louder. “This is Hollywood. What do you think your wife is doing right now?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s not screwing the waitress.”
This makes Spencer honest-to-God cackle, and, as if I’ve earned his respect, he says: “Fine, Ben, I’ll cut you a deal: you sign the two years toAlcatraz, and I’ll squeeze the shit out of the studio to getReaganback on the table.”
“I think it could win memyOscar,” I say.
“Got a taste of it with the wife’s nomination?”
“No,” I say. “I mean,yes. I am proud of her, and she deserves it. She should have won.”
“I know. I saw you there that night,” he says. “You were basically weeping with pride. I almost wondered if you still had a ball sack.”
“Fuck you, Spencer.”
He laughs. “I’m just messing with you, dickhead. Please? Like my wife doesn’t have me wrapped around all ten of her fingers. Good for you, seriously. Being on her arm, telling everyone how proud you were. Takes a real man.”
“I was proud, am proud.”
“But you want an Oscar nomination of your own.”
“Not just a nomination. A win. I just really thinkReagancan be incredible, the best thing I’ve ever done.”
“Ambition,” Spencer says, easing back his lips into his smarmy Cheshire smile. “I can smell that from a mile away.”
I start to apologize, just as Joey starts to cry, but Spencer waves a hand, which is covered in a ring too many. “Don’t say you’re sorry for that, man, don’t ever apologize for going after what you want. That’s the mark of winners; that’s what separates you from the rest of the pack.”
I blink a few times to clear the thought: he sounds so much like my dad, I forget for a moment that he’s no longer here.
18
TATUM
MAY 2007
I can put it off no longer: I have to go home to Ohio for Piper’s wedding. David Frears has given me loads of advice on “going home again.” All through the media push forPride and Prejudiceleading up to the June release, he’s assured me that you just put on a face like you’re putting on a role.
