A Stranger in the Mirror

Eddie Berrigan, the casting director for Toby's show, was a married man. He had made arrangements to use a friend's apartment three afternoons a week. One of the afternoons was reserved for Berrigan's mistress and the other two afternoons were reserved for what he called "old talent" and "new talent."



Jill Castle was new talent. Several buddies had told Eddie that Jill gave a fantastic "trip around the world" and wonderful head. Eddie had been eager to try her. Now, a part in a sketch had come up that was right for her. All the character had to do was look sexy, say a few lines and exit.



Jill read for Eddie and he was satisfied. She was no Kate Hepburn, but the role didn't call for one. "You're in," he said.



"Thank you, Eddie."



"Here's your script. Rehearsal starts tomorrow morning, ten o'clock sharp. Be on time, and know your lines."



"Of course." She waited.



"Er - how about meeting me this afternoon for a cup of coffee?"



Jill nodded.



"A friend of mine has an apartment at ninety-five thirteen Argyle. The Allerton."



"I know where it is," Jill said.



"Apartment Six D. Three o'clock."



Rehearsals went smoothly. It was going to be a good show. That week's talent included a spectacular dance team from Argentina, a popular rock and roll group, a magician who made everything in sight disappear and a top vocalist. The only one missing was Toby Temple. Jill asked Eddie Berrigan about Toby's absence. "Is he sick?"



Eddie snorted. "He's sick like a fox. The peasants rehearse while old Toby has himself a ball. He'll show up Saturday to tape the show, and then split."



Toby Temple appeared on Saturday morning, breezing into the studio like a king. From a corner of the stage, Jill watched him make his entrance, followed by his three stooges, Clifton Lawrence and a couple of old-time comics. The spectacle filled Jill with contempt. She knew all about Toby Temple. He was an egomaniac who, according to rumor, bragged that he had been to bed with every pretty actress in Hollywood. No one ever said no to him. Oh, yes, Jill knew about the Great Toby Temple.



The director, a short, nervous man named Harry Durkin, introduced the cast to Toby. Toby had worked with most of them. Hollywood was a small village, and the faces soon became familiar. Toby had not met Jill Castle before. She looked beautiful in a beige linen dress, cool and elegant.



"What are you doing, honey?" Toby asked.



"I'm in the astronaut sketch, Mr. Temple."



He gave her a warm smile and said, "My friends call me Toby."



The cast started to work. The rehearsal went unusually well, and Durkin quickly realized why. Toby was showing off for Jill. He had laid every other girl in the show, and Jill was a new challenge.



The sketch that Toby did with Jill was the high point of the show. Toby gave Jill a couple of additional lines and a funny piece of business. When rehearsal was over, Toby said to her, "How about a little drink in my dressing room?"



"Thank you, I don't drink." Jill smiled and walked away. She had a date with a casting director and that was more important than Toby Temple. He was a one-shot. A casting director meant steady employment.



When they taped the show that evening it was an enormous success, one of the best shows Toby had ever done.



"Another smash," Clifton told Toby. "That astronaut sketch was top drawer."



Toby grinned. "Yeah. I like that little chick in it. She's got something."



"She's pretty," Clifton said. Every week there was a different girl. They all had something, and they all went to bed with Toby and became yesterday's conversation piece.



"Fix it for her to have supper with us, Cliff."



It was not a request. It was a command. A few years ago, Clifton would have told Toby to do it himself. But these days, when Toby asked you to do something, you did it. He was a king and this was his kingdom, and those who did not want to be exiled stayed in his favor.



"Of course, Toby," Clifton said. "I'll arrange it."



Clifton walked down the hall to the dressing room where the girl dancers and female members of the cast changed. He rapped once on the door and walked in. There were a dozen girls in the room in various stages of undress. They paid no attention to him except to call out greetings. Jill had removed her makeup and was getting into her street clothes. Clifton walked up to her. "You were very good," he said.



Jill glanced at him in the mirror without interest. "Thanks." At one time she would have been excited to be this close to Clifton Lawrence. He could have opened every door in Hollywood for her. Now everyone knew that he was simply Toby Temple's stooge.



"I have good news for you. Mr. Temple wants you to join him for supper."



Jill lightly tousled her hair with her fingertips and said, "Tell him I'm tired. I'm going to bed." And she walked out.



Supper that evening was a misery. Toby, Clifton Lawrence and Durkin, the director, were in La Rue's at a front booth. Durkin had suggested inviting a couple of the showgirls, but Toby had furiously rejected the idea.



The table captain was saying, "Are you ready to order, Mr. Temple?"



Toby pointed to Clifton and said, "Yeah. Give the idiot here an order of tongue."



Clifton joined the laughter of the others at the table, pretending that Toby was simply being amusing.



Toby snapped, "I asked you to do a simple thing like inviting a girl to dinner. Who told you to scare her off?"



"She was tired," Clifton explained. "She said - "



"No broad is too tired to have dinner with me. You must have said something that pissed her off." Toby had raised his voice. The people at the next booth had turned to stare. Toby gave them his boyish smile and said, "This is a farewell dinner, folks." He pointed at Clifton. "He's donated his brain to the zoo."



There was laughter from the other table. Clifton forced a grin, but under the table his hands were clenched.



"Do you want to know how dumb he is?" Toby asked the people at the adjoining booth. "In Poland, they tell jokes about him."



The laughter increased. Clifton wanted to get up and walk out, but he did not dare. Durkin sat there embarrassed, too wise to say anything. Toby now had the attention of several nearby booths. He raised his voice again, giving them his charming smile. "Cliff Lawrence here gets his stupidity honestly. When he was born, his parents had a big fight over him. His mother claimed it wasn't her baby."



Mercifully, the evening finally came to an end. But tomorrow Clifton Lawrence stories were going to be told all over town.



Clifton Lawrence lay in his bed that night, unable to sleep. He asked himself why he allowed Toby to humiliate him. The answer was simple: money. The income from Toby Temple brought him over a quarter of a million dollars a year. Clifton lived expensively and generously, and he had not saved a cent. With his other clients gone, he needed Toby. That was the problem. Toby knew it, and baiting Clifton had become a blood sport. Clifton had to get away before it was too late.



But he was aware that it was already too late.



He had been trapped into this situation because of his affection for Toby: he had really loved him. He had watched Toby destroy others - women who had fallen in love with him, comics who had tried to compete with him, critics who had panned him. But those were others. Clifton had never believed that Toby would turn on him. He and Toby were too close, Clifton had done too much for him.



He dreaded to think about what the future held.



Ordinarily, Toby would not have given Jill Castle more than a second glance. But Toby was not used to being denied anything he wanted. Jill's refusal only acted as a goad. He invited her to dinner again. When she declined, Toby shrugged it off as some kind of stupid game she was playing and decided to forget about her. The irony was that if it had been a game, Jill would never have been able to deceive Toby, because Toby understood women too well. No, he sensed that Jill really did not want to go out with him, and the thought galled him. He was unable to get her out of his mind.



Casually, Toby mentioned to Eddie Berrigan that it might be a good idea to use Jill Castle on the show again. Eddie telephoned her. She told him she was busy doing a bit role in a Western. When Eddie reported back to Toby, the comedian was furious.



"Tell her to cancel whatever she's doing," he snapped. "We'll pay her more. For Christ's sake, this is the number one show on the air. What's the matter with that dizzy broad?"



Eddie called Jill again and told her how Toby felt. "He really wants you back on the show, Jill. Can you make it?"



"I'm sorry," Jill said. "I'm doing a part at Universal. I can't get out of it."



Nor would she try. An actress did not get ahead in Hollywood by walking out on a studio. Toby Temple meant nothing to Jill except a day's work. The following evening, the Great Man himself telephoned her. His voice on the telephone was warm and charming.



"Jill? This is your little old co-star, Toby."



"Hello, Mr. Temple."



"Hey, come on! What's with the 'mister' bit?" There was no response. "Do you like baseball?" Toby asked. "I've got box seats for - "



"No, I don't."



"Neither do I." He laughed. "I was testing you. Listen, how about having dinner with me Saturday night? I stole my chef from Maxim's in Paris. He - "



"I'm sorry. I have a date, Mr. Temple." There was not even a flicker of interest in her voice.



Toby felt himself gripping the receiver more tightly. "When are you free?"



"I'm a hard-working girl. I don't go out much. But thank you for asking me."



And the line went dead. The bitch had hung up on him - a fucking bit player had hung up on Toby Temple! There was not a woman Toby had met who would not give a year of her life to spend one night with him - and this stupid cunt had turned him down! He was in a violent rage, and he took it out on everyone around him. Nothing was right. The script stank, the director was an idiot, the music was terrible and the actors were lousy. He summoned Eddie Berrigan, the casting director, to his dressing room.



"What do you know about Jill Castle?" Toby demanded.



"Nothing," Eddie said instantly. He was not a fool. Like everyone else on the show, he knew exactly what was going on. Whichever way it turned out, he had no intention of getting caught in the middle.



"Does she sleep around?"



"No, sir," Eddie said firmly. "If she did, I'd know about it."



"I want you to check her out," Toby ordered. "Find out if she's got a boyfriend, where she goes, what she does - you know what I want."



"Yes, sir," Eddie said earnestly.



At three o'clock the next morning, Eddie was awakened by the telephone at his bedside.



"What did you find out?" a voice asked.



Eddie sat up in bed, trying to blink himself awake. "Who the hell - " He suddenly realized who was at the other end of the telephone. "I checked," Eddie said hastily. "She's got a clean bill of health."



"I didn't ask you for her fucking medical certificate," Toby snapped. "Is she laying anybody?"



"No, sir. Nobody. I talked to my buddies around town. They all like Jill and they use her because she's a fine actress." He was talking faster now, anxious to convince the man at the other end of the phone. If Toby Temple ever learned that Jill had slept with Eddie - had chosen him over Toby Temple! - Eddie would never work in this town again. He had talked to his casting-director friends, and they were all in the same position he was. No one wanted to make an enemy of Toby Temple, so they had agreed on a conspiracy of silence. "She doesn't play around with anybody."



Toby's voice softened, "I see. I guess she's just some kind of crazy kid, huh?"



"I guess she is," said Eddie, relieved.



"Hey! I hope I didn't wake you up?"



"No, no, that's all right, Mr. Temple."



But Eddie lay awake a long time, contemplating what could happen to him if the truth ever came out.



For this was Toby Temple's town.



Toby and Clifton Lawrence were having lunch at the Hillcrest Country Club. Hillcrest had been created because few of the top country clubs in Los Angeles admitted Jews. This policy was so rigidly observed that Groucho Marx's ten-year-old child, Melinda, had been ordered out of the swimming pool of a club where a Gentile friend had taken her. When Groucho heard what had happened, he telephoned the manager of the club and said, "Listen - my daughter's only half-Jewish. Would you let her go into the pool up to her waist?"



As a result of incidents like this, some affluent Jews who enjoyed golf, tennis, gin rummy and baiting anti-Semites got together and formed their own club, selling shares exclusively to Jewish members. Hillcrest was built in a beautiful park a few miles from the heart of Beverly Hills, and it quickly became famous for having the best buffet and the most stimulating conversation in town. The Gentiles clamored to be admitted. In a gesture toward tolerance, the board ruled that a few non-Jews would be allowed to join the club.



Toby always sat at the comedians' table, where the Hollywood wits gathered to exchange jokes and top one another. But today Toby had other things on his mind. He took Clifton to a corner table. "I need your advice, Cliff," Toby said.



The little agent glanced up at him in surprise. It had been a long time since Toby had asked for his advice. "Certainly, dear boy."



"It's this girl," Toby began, and Clifton was instantly ahead of him. Half the town knew the story by now. It was the biggest joke in Hollywood. One of the columnists had even run it as a blind item. Toby had read it and commented, "I wonder who the schmuck is?" The great lover was hooked on a girl on the town who had turned him down. There was only one way to handle this situation.



"Jill Castle," Toby was saying, "remember her? The kid who was on the show?"



"Ah, yes, a very attractive girl. What's the problem?"



"I'll be goddamned if I know," Toby admitted. "It's like she's got something against me. Every time I ask her for a date, I get a turn-down. It makes me feel like some kind of shit-kicker from Iowa."



Clifton took a chance. "Why don't you stop asking her?"



"That's the crazy part, pal. I can't. Between you and me and my cock, I've never wanted a broad so much in my life. It's getting so I can't think about anything else." He smiled self-consciously and said, "I told you it was crazy. You've been around the track a few times, Cliff. What do I do?"



For one reckless moment, Clifton was tempted to tell Toby the truth. But he couldn't tell him that his dream girl was sleeping around town with every assistant casting director who could give her a day's work. Not if he wanted to keep Toby as a client. "I have an idea," Clifton suggested. "Is she serious about her acting?"



"Yes. She's ambitious."



"All right. Then, give her an invitation she has to accept."



"What do you mean?"



"Have a party at your house."



"I just told you, she won't - "



"Let me finish. Invite studio heads, producers, directors - people who could do her some good. If she's really interested in being an actress, she'll be dying to meet them."



Toby dialed her number. "Hello, Jill."



"Who is this?" she asked.



Everyone in the country recognized his voice, and she was asking who it was!



"Toby. Toby Temple."



"Oh." It was a sound that could have meant anything.



"Listen, Jill, I'm giving a little dinner party at my home next Wednesday night and I" - he heard her start to refuse and hurried on - "I'm having Sam Winters, head of Pan-Pacific, and a few other studio heads there, and some producers and directors. I thought it might be good for you to meet them. Are you free?"



There was the briefest of pauses, and Jill Castle said, "Wednesday night. Yes, I'm free. Thank you, Toby."



And neither of them knew that it was an appointment in Samarra.



On the terrace, an orchestra played, while liveried waiters passed trays of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of champagne.



When Jill arrived, forty-five minutes late, Toby nervously hurried to the door to greet her. She was wearing a simple white silk dress, and her black hair fell softly against her shoulders. She looked ravishing. Toby could not take his eyes off her. Jill was aware that she looked beautiful. She had washed and styled her hair very carefully and had taken a long time with her makeup.



"There are a lot of people here I want you to meet." Toby took Jill's hand and led her across the large reception hall into the formal drawing room. Jill stopped at the entrance, staring at the guests. Almost every face in the room was familiar to her. She had seen them on the cover of Time and Life and Newsweek and Paris Match and OGGI or on the screen. This was the real Hollywood. These were the picture makers. Jill had imagined this moment a thousand times, being with these people, talking with them. Now that the reality was here, it was difficult for her to realize that it was actually happening.



Toby was handing her a glass of champagne. He took her arm and led her to a man surrounded by a group of people. "Sam, I want you to meet Jill Castle."



Sam turned. "Hello, Jill Castle," he said pleasantly.



"Jill, this is Sam Winters, chief Indian of Pan-Pacific Studios."



"I know who Mr. Winters is," Jill said.



"Jill's an actress, Sam, a damned clever actress. You could use her. Give your joint a little class."



"I'll keep that in mind," Sam said politely.



Toby took Jill's hand, holding it firmly. "Come on, honey," he said. "I want everybody to meet you."



Before the evening was over, Jill had met three studio heads, half a dozen important producers, three directors, a few writers, several newspaper and television columnists and a dozen stars. At dinner, Jill sat at Toby's right. She listened to the various conversations, savoring the feeling of being on the Inside for the first time.



"...the trouble with these epics is that if one of them flops, it can wipe out the whole studio. Fox is hanging on by its teeth, waiting to see what Cleopatra does."



"...have you seen the new Billy Wilder picture yet? Sensational!"



"Yeah? I liked him better when he was working with Brackett. Brackett has class."



"Billy has talent."



"...so, I sent Peck a mystery script last week, and he's crazy about it. He said he'd give me a definite answer in a day or two."



"...I received this invitation to meet the new guru, Krishi Pramananada. Well, my dear, it turned out I'd already met him; I attended his bar mitzvah."



"...the problem with budgeting a picture at two is that by the time you have an answer print, the cost of inflation plus the goddamned unions has pushed it up to three or four."



Millions, Jill thought excitedly. Three or four millions. She remembered the endless penny-ante conversations at Schwab's where the hangers-on, the Survivors, avidly fed each other crumbs of information about what the studios were doing. Well, the people at this table tonight were the real survivors, the ones who made everything in Hollywood happen.



These were the people who had kept the gates shut against her, who had refused to give her a chance. Any person at this table could have helped her, could have changed her life, but none of them had had five minutes to spare for Jill Castle. She looked over at a producer who was riding high with a big new musical picture. He had refused to give Jill even an interview.



At the far end of the table, a famous comedy director was in animated conversation with the star of his latest film. He had refused to see Jill.



Sam Winters was talking to the head of another studio. Jill had sent a telegram to Winters, asking him to watch her performance on a television show. He had never bothered answering.



They would pay for their slights and insults, they and everybody else in this town who had treated her so shabbily. Right now, she meant nothing to the people here, but she would. Oh, yes. One day she would.



The food was superb, but Jill was too preoccupied to notice what she ate. When dinner was over, Toby rose and said, "Hey! We better hurry before they start the picture without us." Holding Jill's arm, he led the way to the large projection room where they were to watch a movie.



The room was arranged so that sixty people could comfortably view the picture in couches and easy chairs. An open cabinet filled with candy bars stood at one side of the entrance. A popcorn machine stood on the other side.



Toby had seated himself next to Jill. She was aware that all through the screening his eyes were on her rather than on the movie. When the picture ended and the lights went up, coffee and cake were served. Half an hour later, the party began to dissolve. Most of the guests had early studio calls.



Toby was standing at the front door saying good night to Sam Winters when Jill walked up, wearing her coat. "Where are you going?" Toby demanded. "I'm gonna take you home."



"I have my car," Jill answered, sweetly. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Toby." And she left.



Toby stood there in disbelief, watching her drive away. He had made exciting plans for the rest of the evening. He was going to take Jill upstairs to the bedroom and - he had even picked out the tapes he was going to play! Any woman here tonight would have been grateful to jump into my bed, Toby thought. They were stars, too, not some dumb bit player. Jill Castle was just too damned stupid to know what she was turning down. It was over as far as Toby was concerned. He had learned his lesson.



He was never going to talk to Jill again.



Toby telephoned Jill at nine o'clock the next morning, and he was answered by a tape-recorded message. "Hello, this is Jill Castle. I'm sorry I'm not at home now. If you'll leave your name and telephone number, I'll call back when I return. Please wait until you hear the signal. Thank you." There was a sharp beep.



Toby stood there clutching the telephone in his hand, then slammed down the receiver without leaving a message. He was damned if he was going to carry on a conversation with a mechanical voice. A moment later, he redialed the number. He listened to the recording again and spoke. "You've got the cutest voice-over in town. You should package it. I don't usually call back girls who eat and run, but in your case, I've decided to make an exception. What are you doing for dinner to - ?" The phone went dead. He had talked too long for the goddamned tape. He froze, not knowing what to do, feeling like a fool. It infuriated him to have to call back again, but he dialed the number for the third time and said, "As I was saying before the rabbi cut me off, how about dinner tonight? I'll wait for your call." He left his number and hung up.



Toby waited restlessly all day and did not hear from her. By seven o'clock, he thought, To hell with you. That was your last chance, baby. And this time it was final. He took out his private phone book and began to thumb through it. There was no one in it who interested him.