Love In The Time Of Cinema

By Francis W. Porretto

Part One: Celebrity Stalker

At 28, Jana Tyrell is already the most sought-after actress in the world. However, she cordially dislikes just about everyone in the movie business, including her current lover. After Guardian, her most recent movie, and Eric Feiglin, her lover and leading man, garner a slew of negative reviews, she searches the Internet for some kind words about it, stumbles upon the website of Tim Beaufort, an amateur commentator in New York, and is charmed both by his comments about the movie and by much else he’s written. She impulsively seeks him out at his home in Onteora County, in continental New York, and the two swiftly fall in love.

Part Two: Body Double

Director Darius Morgan, despite Jana’s firm contractual prohibition on ever appearing nude, inserts a nude scene into romantic comedy Atoll Extraordinaire, her next movie. Following the loss of his engineering job for opposing a “trans tolerance” agenda imposed upon his company by Human Resources, Tim accompanies Jana back to L.A. When they arrive at the studio where Atoll Extraordinaire is to be made, they discover that Morgan has tried to coerce body double Vanessa Stettin, a physical match for Jana, into actually having sex with her costar – former lover Eric Feiglin – while the cameras are running. Jana and her agent, former Israeli commando Shoshanna Litvak, force Morgan to relent, to remove the nude scene from the movie, and to omit Feiglin from the Guardian sequels. Jana and Tim settle into domesticity in her Los Angeles home, a top-of-the-line motorhome she keeps in a Thousand Oaks trailer park.

Part Three: Changing Trades

At the conclusion of the filming of Atoll Extraordinaire, Tim tells Jana that the script for Guardian At Bay is a stinker, after which she reads it for the first time and concurs. Much to her surprise, Tim is friendly with the author of the Guardian trilogy, and whisks Jana off to New York to meet writer “Eamon O’Shaughnessey,” real name Devin MacLachlan. Devin agrees that the script won’t do, and immediately puts Tim to work replacing it, though Tim has never done a screenplay before and a couple of unpublished short stories are his only fiction. Over the next two weeks, Tim bears down and produces a script Devin approves. Jana and Tim return to Los Angeles to present the replacement script to Morgan, who falls in love with it and hires Tim to be his exclusive screenwriter henceforward. Tim accepts the offer, but surprises Jana by telling her that he can’t write in Los Angeles – that he must return to Onteora.

Part Four: Half Life

Jana hasn’t seen Tim over the three months she’s worked on Guardian At Bay. Upon the instant the filming completes, she rushes back to Tim’s arms. After Mass on Christmas Day, she hustles the two of them to see Tim’s pastor, Father Raymond Altomare, and asks about: 1) becoming a Catholic, and: 2) marrying Tim. Tim is blindsided by all of it, but (of course) accepts this oddball proposal of marriage.

Jana and Tim fly to L.A. to deliver Tim’s script for Guardian’s Pledge to Darius Morgan. Eric Feiglin, who seeks cheap revenge on Jana, takes advantage of the opportunity to inform a gossip columnist about Jana’s motorhome, its residence, and her new lover. For the first time in her years in cinema, Jana lacks the privacy she needs.

Jana resists the urge to revenge herself on Feiglin. Instead, she prevails upon Vanessa Stettin to lease a new trailer park space under Stettin’s name, relocates her motorhome, and sends Tim back to New York. Afterward, she announces to her colleagues that henceforward she’ll make only two movies per year. Morgan, Litvak, and producer Gil Gianelli are devastated–Jana is money in the bank for them–but she stands firm. That gives her “half a life” in cinema, and half with her husband-to-be. It’s not everything she wants, but she accepts it with all the serenity she can muster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Francis W. Porretto
• Release date: Jun 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311417190

Francis W. Porretto

Francis W. Porretto was born in 1952. Things went steadily downhill from there.Fran is an engineer and fictioneer who lives on the east end of Long Island, New York. He's short, bald, homely, has bad acne and crooked teeth. His neighbors hold him personally responsible for the decline in local property values. His life is graced by one wife, two stepdaughters, two dogs, four cats, too many power tools to list, and an old ranch house furnished in Early Mesozoic style. His 13,000 volume (and growing) personal library is considered a major threat to the stability of the North American tectonic plate.Publishing industry professionals describe Fran's novels as "Unpublishable. Horrible, but unpublishable all the same." (They don't think much of his short stories, either.) He's thought of trying bribery, but isn't sure he can afford the $3.95.Fran's novels "Chosen One," "On Broken Wings," "Shadow Of A Sword," "The Sledgehammer Concerto," "Which Art In Hope," "Freedom's Scion," "Freedom's Fury," and "Priestesses" are also available as paperbacks, through Amazon. Check the specific pages for those books for details.Wallow in his insane ranting on politics, culture, and faith at "Liberty's Torch:" http://www.libertystorch.info/And of course, write to him, on whatever subject tickles your fancy, at [e-mail]

Book preview

Part One: Celebrity Stalker

We weren’t friends. We were barely acquainted. I certainly didn’t expect her to call and offer me the first interview she’d allowed anyone in several decades.

"I’ve enjoyed your articles immensely, she said. Especially the ones you’ve done on the home lives and domestic arrangements of entertainment celebrities."

Well! Talk about being hit from left field. Thank you, I finally forced out.

"So am I interesting enough to be one of your subjects?"

I could hardly say yes fast enough. Her smile traveled the line between us with a hundred percent fidelity.

"Then may I have the pleasure of your company some time soon? she said. We could chat over lunch, if you like."

"I’m free today, I said at once. Are you in L.A.? I have no idea where you live."

She chuckled. That’s by design. No problem. I’ll come to you. How’s the parking at your place?

That was how we first hit it off.

#

Her motorhome barely fit the confines of my driveway. I came out just as she did. She smiled brilliantly and beckoned me inside.

She was as beautiful and vital as ever: as straight of spine and smooth of complexion, as perfectly garbed and groomed, as cheerful and self-possessed as she’d been fifty years before. She carried those years as if they weighed nothing at all.

As I mounted the steps into her motorhome I braced myself for God only knew what. Her emphasis on her privacy was legendary. She’d never allowed the media easy access. Her decades-long refusal to appear at public events, even those in a worthy cause, had drawn the disparagement of activists for decades. Anyone who knew much about her personal life or that of her late and equally reclusive husband had kept it to himself.

Despite its age, her motorhome was in perfect condition inside and out. The driver’s cabin was as pristine as any car enthusiast could wish. The floor was pale pink ceramic tile laced by veins of some chocolate mineral. The wraparound booth style dinette seats were upholstered in spotless beige leather. The appliances and fixtures were gleaming stainless steel. The air bore a faint aroma of lilacs.

Her five Best Actress Oscars sat in a clump atop the refrigerator. I wondered what she’d done with the ones for Best Supporting Actress, decided not to ask.

She bade me sit at the dinette table and be comfortable while she fixed us lunch. She’d already set the table: two places, each with an earthenware salad bowl, a fork, and a white linen napkin. The giggles were hard to contain. Not only was I about to interview the most sought after actress of the past half century; I was about to eat her cooking. I unwrapped and thumb-printed a fresh memory cartridge, inserted it in my recorder, set it alongside my place setting, and said a little prayer that lunch would be edible, or at least not too challenging.

Presently she toted a tureen of chef’s salad to the table. Cubed ham and turkey, eggs, shredded cheddar cheese, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, and assorted greens generously but not overbearingly dressed Thousand Island style. She offered me the serving tongs and said Dig in.

I did, thinking that will be the first line of the article. Thank you for lunch. And for the chance to interview you, of course. I pointed at my recorder. May I? She nodded, and I pressed the Start key. For openers, what made you decide to do this?

She shrugged as she reached for the tongs. It’s time, she said. I’m no Garbo. I don’t particularly want to be alone. I just never warmed to the idea of being a celebrity.

"Well, I said, this business can be intrusive."

"Well, you’re not intruding. Eat hearty. There’s plenty."

"Anyway, I said, your call caught me by surprise. I haven’t got a list of topics or questions for you. So what would you like to talk about?"

She laid down the tongs, picked up her fork, and fixed me with a gaze that had mesmerized millions.

"Did you ever wonder why it is that I keep to myself?"

I shrugged. It’s your prerogative.

"Thank you. That attitude is rare in your trade. It’s one of the reasons I contacted you. The meat of it is that I’m not the sort of person other people like. Ever since I was a little girl, nearly everyone I’ve ever met has decided to avoid me pretty quickly."

I peered at her. Are you serious?

She nodded. As a heart attack.

"Do you have any idea why? I mean, do these unfriendly acquaintances ever deign to tell you what it is about you that puts them off?"

She smiled faintly. You know what people are like. They’ll hardly ever tell you the truth on that score. Even if you ask. But I can tell when I’m being flimflammed. I’d imagine most actors and actresses can. So I just let it pass.

We paused for a couple of bites of lunch.

I tried to arrange my thoughts. No other actress had ever been as praised. No other actress had ever had her run of smash hits. She’d starred in three of the five highest-grossing movies ever made...and a lot of industry folks would tell you, with perfect seriousness, that without her they’d have bombed and been forgotten.

That was the woman who’d described herself as not the sort of person other people like.

"I have to ask, I said. There’s some reason you decided to make yourself available to someone in the entertainment press after all these years. As flattered as I am that you chose me, I’m still burning up with curiosity. Why me, and why now?"

"I already told you ‘why you,’ she said. Your articles about celebrities’ home lives and arrangements. They’ve all been tasteful. You obviously understand what may and what must not be said in public. I’ve accumulated enough baggage over the past five decades that I didn’t want to risk unpacking the wrong piece in front of anyone who lacks that understanding. As for ‘why now?’"

Her eyes filled with mist.

"Tim."

As Tim Beaufort left the Onteora Cinema on the opening night of Guardian, the long-awaited movie made from Eamon O’Shaughnessey’s beloved fantasy novel, he found himself surrounded by other moviegoers chattering their opinions to one another at a range of volumes. Those opinions were as widely distributed as the amplitudes of the speakers’ voices. He strove to shut them out so that he could concentrate on articulating what he’d say in his review of the movie at PhilosOffal.

The script was good. The directing was first-rate. Somewhat less CGI would have been nice. Tyrell was her usual glowing self, and the computer-generated stuff tended to distract from her. Overall, well done. Entertaining, but not a contender for best picture. Tyrell might get another one, though. That would make three in a row. That’s never happened before.

He stepped out onto Grand Avenue, smiled, and sauntered northward through the early evening gloom. The mid-May weather had brought Onteora County to its peak. He’d won his bet that walking rather than driving the three miles to the theater wouldn’t leave him soaked, sweating, or shivering. A month earlier, he wouldn’t have dared no matter how bright the sunshine; a month later, the same walk would likely cost him a bout of heat prostration.

Great God in heaven, how does a woman that young acquire so much power to move a crowd? When Giulia watched her school being burned there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Mine certainly weren’t. There hasn’t been an actress with that much emotional appeal for thirty years at least.

He turned eastward at the intersection with Route 231. He kept carefully to the margin of the road, alert for the noise of an approaching eighteen-wheeler. The heavily traveled truck route had no sidewalks.

Her love interest was something of a stiff. He wasn’t cast as Talon for his acting ability, that seems certain. I hope he acquires a bit more skill before they film the sequel.

Trouble is, the focus of the story is Giulia. Talon is a subordinate role, and whoever plays him has to accept that. There aren’t many first-echelon actors, guys with serious talent, who’d be willing to take a back seat to a female lead. Not even when the lead is Jana Tyrell.

There’s a wonder. Tyrell is easily the hottest actress in the world today, but she’s never had a problem subordinating herself to a solid male lead. She’s always been willing to let the hero be the hero. That takes more than just talent. It takes a devotion to the quality of the final product. Humility.

By the time he reached the junction of 231 and Pine Aire Drive and turned southward toward his home, his Guardian review lay complete in his head, needing only to be typed out and posted.

Thank you, Eamon O’Shaughnessey, for yet another novel that depicts genuine heroism in the cause of justice. Thank you, Colman Jenkins, Darius Morgan, and Jana Tyrell, for making it into a fine and inspiring movie. And thank You, God, for a pleasant May evening on which to see it.

#

I knew we shouldn’t have taken those roles, Eric Feiglin snarled. He paced the suite’s anteroom like a newly caged tiger impatient for something to kill. Mystical garbage like that—

Eric, Jana Tyrell said, I’m as unhappy about the reviews as you are, but all the same I’d appreciate it if you would stop trashing the movie. She slid forward to perch on the edge of the sofa. It’s not a bad film, it’s just not popular with the critics. Besides, you were happy enough to have the part before this.

He scowled. Frankly, if you hadn’t been cast to play Giulia, I wouldn’t have considered it.

You wouldn’t have gotten the role if I hadn’t lobbied for you with Darius.

Why not? Was the money not enough? Or were you uneasy about appearing in a movie with religious overtones?

He ceased to pace and cast a disdainful sideways glance at her. I gave it the benefit of the doubt. Like you.

She shook her head. "I had no doubts. I was eager to play Giulia. One of the reasons was that O’Shaughnessey takes religion seriously. The story in Guardian is a version of a story from the Gospels, just with some swords and sorcery and romance mixed in."

He snorted a laugh. So who did you think you were playing? The Blessed Virgin?

She closed her eyes and counted silently to ten.

I should have seen it coming. I could have kept my mouth shut and let him rave. But I had to stick my oar into it.

I was happy to have the role, Eric, she said at last. I was even happier to have you as Talon. If there’s anything about the movie I’m not too happy about, it’s the industry reviews and the way you’ve let them get to you.

And your phoned-in performance, but I know better than to say that to your face.

He stared at her as if she’d started babbling in tongues.

They savaged me, Jana, he said. "They tore me apart. ‘Feiglin’s Talon has the romantic allure of a stoplight and the heroic stature of a wooden Indian,’ Syrtel said—and he was one of the kinder ones. What do you think that will do to my shot at a serious role?"

Eric, she said, hoping her words and tone would mollify him, Darius had nothing bad to say about your Talon. Neither did Gil. Their opinions count more than Syrtel’s or any other poseur who rants from behind a byline about something he could never do. And the opinions of the fans matter even more. She rose. They’ve already flocked to see the movie. We had the third-biggest opening night ever recorded!

Though they probably came hoping to see the book, rather than a CGI-heavy romantic adventure film. At least ColmanCo and Darius didn’t try to hide the theme.

Feiglin stared at her in silence. She stepped forward, arms raised, intending to embrace him. To her surprise, he held up a hand and backed away. She froze.

If that’s what matters most to you, Jana, he said at last, "we don’t have a future. I want to do serious films. Films about adults. Films with drama and passion. Films with relevance. He laid his hand on the doorknob, yanked open the door, and cast a final, contemptuous glance back at her. Not blood and guts epics that reel in the teenyboppers with supernatural garbage and special effects. And I don’t suppose I’ll be doing them with you."

He stepped out and closed the door emphatically behind him. She waited until the latch clicked before allowing herself to collapse onto the sofa.

Just great. Get panned and get dumped in one afternoon.

It wasn’t a formula Jana was accustomed to. Eric wasn’t her first lover, but he was the first to leave her entirely of his own accord. Not all of her movies had received massive critical acclaim, but none of them had been widely and brutally condemned on their opening nights...before Guardian. She’d loved the Eamon O’Shaughnessey novel and the complex, deeply conflicted character of Giulia too much to imagine such an outcome. The prospect of playing opposite Eric, whose star hadn’t risen nearly as high or as fast as hers but would surely get a boost from appearing as her leading man, had amplified her eagerness.

Well, Darius did have some odd ideas. He didn’t have to lay on the CGI so thickly. And for sure he didn’t have to have me crying in terror so much.

The combination of setbacks pressed upon her. She cast about for some distraction, anything that might allow her to take