Dorothy,” she corrected him. “I always allow people who’ve saved my life to call me by my first name. As for the job, what can I say? Yours isn’t a cushy one either, is it? Judging by what I’ve seen today, I don’t think you’re the nine-to-five type of guy.”
“Dorothy...I don’t think your life was threatened. The real target was your uncle. And probably the only one, if you ask me. And you can call me Mark.”
Right then the waitress returned with the order. She set the two plates on the table, then, without hesitation, placed the ice tea before the woman and the brandy before the agent.
“I believe that’s your drink,” Mark tried to smile. “You know, I’ve got a drinking problem!”
She looked down embarrassed then tried to change the subject. “What is this, some sort of hepatitis?”
“Just mushroom salad, that’s all.”
“Tell me, Mark, were you afraid back there, in the box? I’m asking you because you didn’t give me that impression at all.”
“I didn’t have time for that. I was too busy. Though I must admit I’m beginning to feel frightened by what might have happened.”
She stared at him not trying to hide her admiration. “Which means you’re really brave.”
“Really? That was quick! You’ve got a degree in psychology or something?”
“No, but I’m an actress, Mark, and a pretty good one too. I like to think I’m a sort of expert in expressing emotions. Let me explain: white-livered people get scared before the danger appears, cowards in the middle of it, and the brave when everything’s over.”
“Finally, thanks to you, for the first time in my life I get to know who I really am,” he said smiling.
“Do ou often get to kill people in your job? You must be used to death.”
“You never get used to that one!” Mark replied. “I’ve done it twice before. The first time I shot a gun dealer who was pointing a gun at me. The second time, though...,” he suddenly kept quiet, overwhelmed by sadness.
“Tell me about it,” she insisted.
Mark ventured to look straight at her. Dressed in that elegant gown, tight-fitted on her splendid body, she would have put Evangelista or Claudia Schiffer out of work by simply attending a fashion show.
“It happened at the Newark airport. We were waiting for a drug dealer to arrive, ready to bust him. We were standing outside Gate 2 when suddenly from Gate 3 came running a small, bald, middle-aged guy holding a briefcase to his chest. A security guard was chasing him shouting, ‘Watch out! He’s got a bomb!’ Suddenly the little guy stopped and, with a bewildered look on his face, started shouting, ‘Everybody down! I’m going to blow everything up!’ He was about ten feet away from me and I had my gun ready. ‘Shoot!’ the security guard shouted at me. I aimed at his hand but he was moving and the bullet hit him in the chest. As my colleagues were getting at him I prayed hard there was a bomb in that briefcase.”
“And was there?” the actress was curious to know as she took out a cigarette from her purse. He lit it for her.
“Sort of. It was an offensive grenade, half-loaded, probably sold as a cracker. It couldn’t have hurt him too bad, let alone somebody else. I drew close to the little guy. His glasses had fallen down and he looked at me with big, questioning, yet kind eyes. He said he was a Harvard professor and his wife had left him. He died on the way to the hospital. Those eyes have been haunting me ever since. So I created my own way of expiating. Every night for almost a year I dreamed of the little guy. And every time his eyes would tell me a different story about someone’s estrangement and broken destiny: a story for each night, a nightmare every night. I hated my job all that year.” He took a sip of tea, and cleared his throat. “For eleven months I’ve been torturing myself. I haven’t touched a drop of liquor. That’s because I used to be an alcoholic for fourteen months.”
She looked at him sympathetically, as if relieved to find that the man before her had his weaknesses too.
“You’re not missing much, you know. This brandy must be megalomaniac if it thinks it’s Napoleon.”
“I’ll talk to Paul about that,” he said.
“There’s no need to. I was kidding.”
Mark thought Weiss was staring at them. Maybe he was just being paranoid. He chased away his fears, resuming the conversation.
“Well, I’ve been talking too much about myself. And that while sitting at a table with one of the greatest actresses in Hollywood. I’ve seen all your movies, Dorothy, and I like the way you put all your heart into your roles.”
“You’re exaggerating. I’m not exactly one of the greatest. Sharon Stone, Jody Foster, they are great, not me. If you put all your heart into your roles you can’t start all over again,” she said with an expert air. “I sell dreams to people, Mark—eight dollars and a half worth of dreams!”
“Do you often get to meet other celebrities?”
“At parties and openings. I’m closer to Kim Basinger. My father’s a friend of the Baldwins.”
“Do you have many friends in Hollywood?”
“Not really,” she admitted frankly. “I can’t see how I could. You don’t make friends in Hollywood. You either have enemies or connections there.”
“There’s a rumor next February you’re going to be nominated for an Oscar for The Price of Fall.”
“It’s not for certain. But I must admit the movie’s good. And that’s because we had a fantastic team, unlike the one I’m working with now.”
“What are you working on?”
“A sixteenth-century cloak and dagger kind of thing. The indoor scenes were shot in Miami, at Villa Vizcaya. For the outdoor ones we came here, at the Kaufman Astoria. When I read the script I was really enthusiastic about it. It won’t come out too good, though. The team’s bad and my partner’s rather stupid. Picture this: during a fighting scene the director asked him for more stateliness, of the kind Douglas showed in Spartacus. The idiot told him that he had seen all of Micky Douglas’s movies but couldn’t remember that one. I took the offer because Aidan Quinn was supposed to be my partner in the first place. But something came up and I got stuck with Freddie Guire. The only acceptable thing about him is his haircut.”
“I’ve seen you kiss your partners many times. I guess there were several takes for each shot. What’s it like to do a love scene with a stranger? Do you feel anything?”
“I do. Scared of getting a virus mainly. What else? Sometimes it’s really embarrassing when your partners’ wives are there.”
“How much do you get for a part?”
“Not nearly as much as Demi Moore or Sharon Stone. About two or three million dollars.”
Two or three million, Mark thought. He was convinced that he wouldn’t know how to spend that kind of money in a lifetime. “Pretty good money, though!”
“Yes,
