Read Online Maybe the Moon by Armistead Maupin - Free Book Online

be a star.” I embarrassed myself with this admission, so I widened my eyes ironically to show him I knew how silly I’d been. I didn’t want him to think I take myself that seriously. Even though I do.
    “You got work right away,” he remarked. “ Mr. Woods was about…what year?”
    “Eighty-one.”
    “Not bad for a new girl in town.”
    “I suppose.”
    “Did you audition or something?”
    “No. Philip just saw me with Mom one day.”
    “Philip Blenheim?”
    I nodded soberly, enjoying his amazement. Most people are impressed when they find out I was once on a first-name basis with a household name. “Once” being the operative word.
    A smile sprawled across Neil’s face. “He discovered you?”
    “He stepped on me.”
    “C’mon. Where?”
    “At the Farmers Market. Mom and I went there for brunch, and it was crowded, and he didn’t see me. He was nice about it, though. Bought us smoothies and just kept on apologizing. I realized later he was sizing me up for the rubber suit. He took our phone number and called Mom that night, and the next afternoon I had the script.”
    Neil shook his head in wonder.
    “I didn’t catch on to what a big deal it was until he closed the set.”
    “I remember that. The press went into a feeding frenzy.”
    I told him it was the weirdest time of my life. And the biggest high.
    Neil didn’t talk for a while, just kept his eyes on the road in the deepening gloom of the canyon. Finally, he asked: “Have you been in a video store this week?”
    “No. Why?”
    “Well, there’s a big promotion.”
    “For what?”
    “ Mr. Woods . Big cutouts with motors in ’em. Jeremy with the elf.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “It’s the tenth anniversary, isn’t it?”
    I told him it was. I’d known this was going to happen, of course, but I’d momentarily forgotten about it. I’d tried to forget about it.
    “Maybe you’ll be invited to a reunion.”
    “No way.”
    “Why not?”
    “Philip likes to preserve the magic.” I spoke those last three words in quotes, as I always do.
    “What do you mean?”
    I shrugged. “Mr. Woods is just what you see on the screen and nothing else. The movie is it. That’s why the elf never makes public appearances, not even at the Oscars. Philip doesn’t like to talk about how it was done and doesn’t want anyone else to, either. It just reminds people that Mr. Woods isn’t real. He hates that.”
    “But it’s fascinating, I think. Especially now.”
    “Philip thinks it would ruin the movie, destroy the wonder, blah, blah, blah. At least he used to. I doubt if he’s changed his mind since then.”
    “Were you credited, then?” Neil looked gratifyingly concerned on my behalf.
    I told him there were a dozen “operators” for the elf listed on the crawl and that I had simply been one of them. For all the audience knew, I’d been a technician or a robotic engineer, not an actress turning in a performance. I was interviewed once about the role, I explained, by a reporter from Drama-Logue , and as soon as the piece appeared, Philip blew up and accused me of destroying the magic of the film. I almost lost my job over it, I told Neil, and Philip was chilly to me right up to the day we wrapped.
    Neil frowned. “He’s OK about it now, though?”
    “Who knows? I haven’t seen him for years.”
    He shook his head for a while, taking it all in. “What a story.”
    I just shrugged.
    “Thanks for telling it. I’ll think of you in there next time I see the movie.” He turned and gave me the nicest smile. “It won’t spoil the magic for me.”
     
    When we pulled up in front of the house, Renee came bounding out the door, barefoot and in jeans and wearing the embroidered yellow sweater she saves for special occasions. How long she’d been waiting there like that was anyone’s guess.
    “How did it go?” she asked, leaning against the van.
    I told her fine.
    “Did the kids have a good time?”
    I told her yes, they had a fabulous