Read Online The Secret Lives of Married Women by Elissa Wald - Free Book Online
Authors: Elissa Wald
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You’re the girl in Payback! Ain’t you?”
10
Unbelievable. It was unbelievable. Nothing he said could have been more alarming. Of everything I’d done in my nearly invisible career, the starring role in Payback had to be the most obscure—as well as the most compromising. It was the tawdriest part I had ever played.
In Payback , which could only be described as soft porn, I played Jenny J., a gold-digging bimbo who’s made a fortune moving from one hapless rich man to the next. At the movie’s outset, she’s married to an elderly millionaire. She takes a young man as a lover, a hard-muscled stud into whips and chains. By the movie’s conclusion, the husband is dead, but Jenny’s inheritance has been turned over to her lover, to whom she is now enslaved. She’s been brought down, reduced to a maid and a plaything. She does all the housework around the lover’s new mansion wearing nothing but a leather harness. She sleeps in chains and is forced to watch her master have sex with other women.
It was hard to believe that Jack had identified me. I would have thought myself unrecognizable. When that movie was made, I was seventeen years younger and forty pounds lighter. Also, my dark hair had been platinum then, and tinted contacts had made my hazel eyes blue.
“Oh, that.” I tried to laugh. “That was so long ago I can barely remember it.”
“Are you shittin’ me? It’s a classic. I’ve watched it so many times it’s a wonder the tape ain’t wore out. Oh man, I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to you! You don’t know how many nights I’ve gotten off on that flick. If you’ll excuse my saying.”
Breathe, I told myself.
“Hey,” he said. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s your husband think of that movie?”
I could have lied. Could’ve said, He doesn’t think about it much one way or the other. But what if he said something to Stas? Something jocular and congratulatory? What if he raised a beer in drunken homage one evening? I couldn’t take that chance.
“He doesn’t know about it,” I said finally.
“Oh, is that how it is? Well, hey—I understand.”
“I mean, it’s just never come up.”
“Yeah, I hear you. Well, don’t worry. Your little secret’s safe with me. I promise.”
Nausea rose in my throat. “It’s not really a secret. It’s just, there’s been no reason to mention it.”
“I get it, honey. You don’t need to explain nothing to me. A girl’s gotta do things for her career sometimes. I know how it is.”
I looked away, afraid he would see how much I hated him.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “It’s a smokin’ movie. I don’t think you got a thing to apologize for. But I can see how I might feel funny about it, if it was my wife.”
* * *
After driving around the corner and out of sight of our house, I had to pull over to the shoulder of the road. My hands were trembling so violently I was afraid to drive. It was as if I’d pursued every possible avenue away from my former self: trading the acting life for the business arena; the east coast for the west; the limitless, glittering city for a small and unassuming town; the life of a free spirit for marriage and motherhood. But Jack had recognized me; he had found me. He knew things about me that my own husband didn’t know, and for that matter, it was as if he alone could see me for what I was: hopelessly compromised, desperate, dissembling, best suited for a fifth-rate blue movie.
If I told Stas about Payback, what would he think? It was possible that he would be appalled. In some ways, he was very concerned with propriety: he often remarked that this or that would not be proper. For instance, though he often saw other men wearing what appeared to be pajama pants in public (sometimes they really were pajamas; sometimes they were scrubs), he refused to wear his own even to the curb while putting out the trash. (“This would not be proper.”) On the other hand, I knew
10
Unbelievable. It was unbelievable. Nothing he said could have been more alarming. Of everything I’d done in my nearly invisible career, the starring role in Payback had to be the most obscure—as well as the most compromising. It was the tawdriest part I had ever played.
In Payback , which could only be described as soft porn, I played Jenny J., a gold-digging bimbo who’s made a fortune moving from one hapless rich man to the next. At the movie’s outset, she’s married to an elderly millionaire. She takes a young man as a lover, a hard-muscled stud into whips and chains. By the movie’s conclusion, the husband is dead, but Jenny’s inheritance has been turned over to her lover, to whom she is now enslaved. She’s been brought down, reduced to a maid and a plaything. She does all the housework around the lover’s new mansion wearing nothing but a leather harness. She sleeps in chains and is forced to watch her master have sex with other women.
It was hard to believe that Jack had identified me. I would have thought myself unrecognizable. When that movie was made, I was seventeen years younger and forty pounds lighter. Also, my dark hair had been platinum then, and tinted contacts had made my hazel eyes blue.
“Oh, that.” I tried to laugh. “That was so long ago I can barely remember it.”
“Are you shittin’ me? It’s a classic. I’ve watched it so many times it’s a wonder the tape ain’t wore out. Oh man, I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to you! You don’t know how many nights I’ve gotten off on that flick. If you’ll excuse my saying.”
Breathe, I told myself.
“Hey,” he said. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s your husband think of that movie?”
I could have lied. Could’ve said, He doesn’t think about it much one way or the other. But what if he said something to Stas? Something jocular and congratulatory? What if he raised a beer in drunken homage one evening? I couldn’t take that chance.
“He doesn’t know about it,” I said finally.
“Oh, is that how it is? Well, hey—I understand.”
“I mean, it’s just never come up.”
“Yeah, I hear you. Well, don’t worry. Your little secret’s safe with me. I promise.”
Nausea rose in my throat. “It’s not really a secret. It’s just, there’s been no reason to mention it.”
“I get it, honey. You don’t need to explain nothing to me. A girl’s gotta do things for her career sometimes. I know how it is.”
I looked away, afraid he would see how much I hated him.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “It’s a smokin’ movie. I don’t think you got a thing to apologize for. But I can see how I might feel funny about it, if it was my wife.”
* * *
After driving around the corner and out of sight of our house, I had to pull over to the shoulder of the road. My hands were trembling so violently I was afraid to drive. It was as if I’d pursued every possible avenue away from my former self: trading the acting life for the business arena; the east coast for the west; the limitless, glittering city for a small and unassuming town; the life of a free spirit for marriage and motherhood. But Jack had recognized me; he had found me. He knew things about me that my own husband didn’t know, and for that matter, it was as if he alone could see me for what I was: hopelessly compromised, desperate, dissembling, best suited for a fifth-rate blue movie.
If I told Stas about Payback, what would he think? It was possible that he would be appalled. In some ways, he was very concerned with propriety: he often remarked that this or that would not be proper. For instance, though he often saw other men wearing what appeared to be pajama pants in public (sometimes they really were pajamas; sometimes they were scrubs), he refused to wear his own even to the curb while putting out the trash. (“This would not be proper.”) On the other hand, I knew
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