As penance I made an effort to like her. And really, it wasn’t that difficult. She had probably been told that she was beautiful since before she could understand the words, but for some reason she didn’t seem to believe it. She ridiculed herself, her ambitions, the idea that she could make it in Hollywood where so many others had failed.
“My parents are sure I’ll come crawling home within the year,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe the arguments I had before I left. Well, it’s the old story, isn’t it–young girl from the country goes to Hollywood.”
“Where are you from?”
“A farming town in Wisconsin. You’ve never heard of it. What about you?”
“Chicago.”
“And how did your parents take it?”
“Actually, they’ve been pretty supportive,” I said. “Especially my father. He did amateur theatricals in college. He said, ‘I think you’re good enough, but unfortunately what I think doesn’t count for much. You have my blessing.’ And then he laughed–he’d never said anything so old-fashioned in his life.”
“That’s great.” She was silent for a while, no doubt thinking about the differences between us. “Listen, Pam,” she said. “I’m going to an audition next week. It’s another high school student. Ask your agent about it.”
“Sure,” I said, surprised. I would never tell a rival about an audition. Jessie was someone to keep, a caring, genuine person in a town full of hypocrites. “Thanks.”
“See you there,” she said.
We saw each other a lot after that. We went to plays and movies and critiqued the performances, took the white BMW to cattle calls, made cheap dinners for each other and shopped at outlet clothing stores. We took tap-dancing lessons together, from a woman who looked about as old as Hollywood itself. Jessie told me about auditions coming up and I began to tell her if I’d heard anything, though each time it was an effort for me.
She got called back to her soap–they wanted her to do a dream sequence with the man who’d played her lover. We rehearsed the scene together, with me taking the lover’s part.
It was the first time I’d seen her act. She was good, there was no question of that, but there was something she lacked, that spark that true geniuses have. The envious part of me rejoiced–this woman, I thought, would not be a threat. But there was another side of me that regretted she wasn’t better. I liked Jessie, I wanted to see her succeed. I felt almost protective toward her, like a mother toward a child. She was so innocent–I didn’t want her to get hurt.
I was offered several parts at the Berkeley Shakespeare Festival and began to make arrangements to go up north. Jessie was pleased for me, but by this time she knew me well enough to speak her mind. “There aren’t going to be any casting directors up there, Pam,” she said. “Those parts aren’t going to lead to anything. It’s an honor, I know that, but it might be better to stay in town, see what you can get here.”
“I need to stretch myself, see what I can do,” I said. And when she seemed unconvinced I added, “It’ll look good on my rйsumй.”
We rehearsed together again. I had gotten the part of Emilia, Iago’s wife, in Othello, and I had her take the other roles. As we rehearsed I was amazed to realize that she didn’t have any idea what the play was about, that she stumbled speaking the old Elizabethan cadences. I had thought, naпvely I guess, that anyone who wanted to act had had at least some grounding in the classics.
“So this Iago guy, he wants Othello to suspect his wife Desdemona,” she said. “He’s really evil, isn’t he? Do that bit again, the one that starts ‘Villainy, villainy, villainy . . .’ ”
I did. “Hey, you’re good,” she said. There was nothing but pure pleasure in her voice. “You’re really good. I bet you’ll make it. Don’t forget your old friends.”
She had an audition the day I was to leave, so she rented the BMW and drove me to the airport in the morning. We hugged at the curb in front of the terminal, careful not to wish each other good luck, smiling a little at our superstitions.