“A play?” Leo blinked, mystified. “What’s that got to do with it?”
Lana nearly laughed. “Well, quite a lot, I should imagine—”
“I’m not interested in plays! Who said anything about plays? I want to be a movie star—like you.”
Oh my God, Lana thought. This is a disaster.
Realizing the situation was far more serious than she had initially thought, Lana sought my advice. She called me as soon as she was alone. I remember how tense and anxious she sounded on the phone.
Looking back, I could probably have been more sympathetic. I could see why Lana was disappointed—as Barbara West used to put it, “An actress is a little bit more than a woman. An actor, a little bit less than a man.”
I figured, wisely, Lana wouldn’t find that quip funny at the moment.
“Well, Leo’s found his calling,” I said. “That’s good. You should be pleased.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.”
“I’m not. Isn’t that just what the world needs—another actor?”
“Movie star,” Lana corrected, miserably.
“Sorry—movie star.” I chuckled. “Lana, my love—if Leo wants to be a movie star, let him. He’ll be fine.”
“How can you say that?”
“He’s your son, isn’t he?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
I searched for the right analogy. “Well, you don’t buy a horse without looking the mare in the mouth, do you?”
“Meaning what? Is that a joke?” Lana sounded annoyed. “I don’t get it.”
“Meaning every agent in London and LA will be falling over themselves to have him, once they know whose son he is. Anyway,” I went on, before she could object, “he’s seventeen. He’ll change his mind in approximately twenty-five minutes.”
“No. Not Leo. He’s not like that.”
“Well, he won’t starve, anyway. Not with Otto’s billions in the bank.”
Lana’s voice tightened. “Not billions. That’s a dumb thing to say, Elliot. And any money his father set aside for him has nothing to do with this.”
Lana ended the phone call soon after that. She was cool with me for the next few days. I could tell I’d touched a nerve.
She didn’t want Leo to depend upon his inheritance. Fair enough. Work was important, Lana believed, for all kinds of reasons. For years, she had defined herself solely through her work, deriving intense satisfaction from it: a feeling of self-worth, a sense of purpose—not to mention the fortune that she made for herself and others.
One day, Leo would inherit all of it; as well as his father’s money. He would be extremely wealthy. But not until she was dead.
In her mind, Lana kept coming back to the last thing Leo said to her—his parting shot, as he left the kitchen. It was like a knife, slid between her ribs.
Leo paused at the door and threw her a sideways look.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Give up acting. Why did you quit?”
“I’ve told you.” Lana smiled. “I wanted a real life, not a pretend one.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means I’m happier now.”
“You miss it,” Leo said. This was not a question but a statement.
“No, I don’t.” Lana kept smiling. “Not at all.”
“Liar.”
Leo turned and walked out. Lana stopped smiling.
Liar.
Leo was right. Lana was a liar. She was lying to Leo—and to herself.
Finally she understood why this conversation had bothered her so much. This was the secret that had been chasing her around Soho. It had caught up with her at last.
I do miss it, she thought. Of course I miss it. I miss it every day.
The irony was that Leo had no idea that he himself was the cause of Lana’s retirement. She never told him that. Lana told few people why she quit. I was one of them.
When Otto died, Leo was six years old. And Lana’s entire world fell apart. But she had to keep going, for Leo’s sake. So, she put herself back together the only way she knew how: through work. She threw herself into work. Even though her career went from strength to strength—and she made one of her most successful movies, The Loved One, which finally won her an Oscar—Lana wasn’t happy. She had the horrible feeling she was screwing up as a parent. Just as her own mother had screwed up.
Lana knew she was in the privileged position of not needing to work. So why not retire and dedicate herself to raising her son? Why not put him first—as she had never been put first?