Episode 3 | Bewitched - scene 4

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Rocco's Restaurant

Councillor Michael Richards is having dinner with his film star son Ric, at Rocco's on Hollywood Boulevard. Rocco's is so exclusive, that unless you are Hollywood royalty or have some sort of influence you will never make it past the front door. Rocco's clientele loves the restaurant not only for its fine dining and excellent service, but also for its privacy policy and discretion. No journalists and no general public allowed, staff must sign a confidentiality agreement and under no circumstances are they to bother guests.  Private booths ensured that stars could take their lovers here without fear of the affair being splashed across the tabloids.

"How's your mother, son?"

"Dad, don't pretend you care."

"Why wouldn't I?" Michael casually lights up a cigarette.

"I don't know – because you haven't given a shit about her for years."

"That's unfair Ric, your mother made it quite clear she didn't want to have anything to do with me."

"You could have helped her out when she was struggling, you could have helped us."

"Look Ric, let's not start now. All I want is just a pleasant dinner with my son." Michael cuts into the large T-bone steak which has been set down before him.

"Are you sure that's all you want? A private booth in Rocco's – really Dad? I'm beginning to think you don't want to be seen with me."

"I'm not like you Ric, I want to stay out of the gossip tabloids while you're quite content to have your latest stunt splashed all over the front pages."

"What's the matter, are you afraid I'm drawing too much attention to myself?"

"No son, I'm afraid you're drawing too much attention to me."

Ric starts to laugh and shake his head; his eyes are glassy with tears. "I knew it, I fucking knew it!"

"You know how important my reputation is to me."

"What is it this time, huh?"

Michael Richards looks down at his clasped hands for a moment, then directly at his son. "I'm planning on running for governor in June."

"Don't you need a squeaky-clean record to run? What about that little incident in Palm Springs?"

"I've met some very influential people lately, who can do a lot for my reputation."

"Yeah, but can your people actually help you keep your skeletons in the closet."

"As it turns out they can." Michael Richards sips solemnly from his whiskey glass and stares intently at his son who is uncomfortable under his gaze. "Here's the thing Ric, skeletons are not the only thing I would prefer to remain in the closet."

"What?" Ric narrows his eyes.

"I think you know what I'm talking about, son."

"Why don't you just come right out and say it! You're think your son is a faggot, that's it, isn't it!!"

"You always were a momma's boy, but I don't give a damn about that behind the scenes. What I care about is your behaviour in public; stop being seen at the wrong bars, stop hanging out with the wrong people, and most importantly – stop giving off that impression."

"I live my life how I want."

"Bullshit. Stop acting out like a spoilt brat, you need to grow up Ric."

"You're unbelievable!  You want me to stop acting out without even bothering to find out why I'm acting out. You're not even trying to understand me, you haven't once asked if I was doing ok, you couldn't care less about me!"

"I could never talk to you. You were always too much like her, so sensitive and emotional."

"Yeah well, a lot of my problems are because of you, Dad!" Ric downs his vodka martini in one swallow.

Michael eyes him with alarm. "You might want to lay off the sauce for a bit, I don't think that's helping you." He points his steak knife accusingly at Ric. "Also, I think you should talk to someone else about all of this, someone professional. Maybe a good therapist - I'd be happy to pay for it."

"Is this your way of showing you care? In case you haven't noticed, I probably make more money than you. I can pay for it myself. Besides, Meryl has already threatened to quit as my agent unless I see someone."

"So, we have an agreement then?"

"I haven't agreed to shit." Ric gets up and throws a wad of cash on the table. "This is for the meal. It's been real fun, Dad."

Michael Richards watches his son leave the restaurant, he sits at the table for a while completely expressionless, smoking a St Moritz. He steps down out of the booth and collides with another diner. The man extends his hand in a gesture of apology. A tap on Michael's third knuckle using the thumb identified the man as a sect member. The councillor is still new to all of this, and falters trying to remember which knuckle to tap in return. It must have been the correct one because the man nodded in recognition. Amazing. Just how many sect members were out there, he could only guess, but being a part of a rich and powerful secret association was right up his ally. Besides, it sure beat the hell out of schmoozing with those boring evangelist assholes that funded his mayoral campaign last year.

Rory McLoughlin goes back to his own table after shaking hands with the councillor.  He too, is amazed at who is a sect member among the public. He took a gamble on Michael Richards having recognized him from a newspaper photograph - some publicity stunt with the LAPD.  A councillor could be useful, and Rory filed it away in his head for future use. Rory is having an intimate dinner with his wife, Lydia Stone, the Oscar winning actress who has just recently been nominated again. She is tense and nervous, and he pauses to massage her shoulders lightly before sitting down.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes, thank you," she pauses to gulp her wine. "Everything is perfect."

"Everything is perfect – but" he coaxes, sensing her reservation.

"Alright Rory, if I'm perfectly honest, I'm still having a hard time being seen out with you after everything that' s happened. It's like my morals are being judged."

"Who's judging you?"

"I think I've earned the ire of most of my feminist friends, and the invitations to speak at rallies have dried up."

"You're afraid of what a bunch of jack-booted lesbians might think? Lydia c'mon!"

"I'm a role model Rory, that means I have to practice what I preach.  Returning to a philandering husband isn't exactly standing up for female rights. I know that the courts acquitted you and all the circus has died down, but the damage has been done. I can't believe Meryl talked me into this arrangement."

"Wait a second, Meryl White was the one that convinced you to come back to me?  I thought she hated my guts and said I was bad for your reputation."

"Well, she did, and you are, but she thinks that any further controversy right now - like a divorce - would detract from my chances of another Oscar win."

"Divorce! Lydia, I love you, and I know you still love me. Fuck what everyone thinks, fuck Meryl White and her Hollywood politics, and fuck the fucking Oscars!" A few other diners turn their heads at his raised voice, then go back to their meals. This is Rocco's after all.

Lydia looks world-weary despite her delicate beauty. "Rory, we are broken, and I don't know anything that will put us back together, certainly not the way it was. All this is, is just a trial, it's just so I can make my mind up about certain things."

They eat in silence for a while, then Rory puts down his utensils and announces "I think we should have a child. That's what you've always wanted isn't it?"

"I wanted to have a child three years ago, but not now, not while my career is in full swing. Honestly, Rory, you have really shitty timing."

He leans forward and holds Lydia's hands in his, "So take a break.  It'll be a fresh start for us. A new adventure. What do you say?"

"I don't know Rory, I still struggle a little with being intimate with you, let alone having your baby."

He rubs his cheek against her hands and looks intently into her eyes. "Imagine it. You, me, and baby makes three."

"I'll think about it," she withdraws her hands. "Excuse me, I just need to go to the bathroom." With her back to Rory, Lydia can now let the tears of rage flow. She is not sure if she can keep this charade up much longer, it's only a matter of time she tells herself.

Lydia dries her eyes in the bathroom mirror, careful not to smudge her mascara.

"Lydia?" a voice behind her enquires "Are you alright?" She turns to face popular actress Cathy Milton, who has just walked into the bathroom.

"Yes, yes I'm fine," she smiles tightly blinking back further tears. Cathy embraces her, then holds her at arm's length to scrutinize her face.

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure and thank you."

Cathy pulls a vial out of her purse. "Would you like a little snort, might make you feel better?"

Lydia looks down and smiles, "Well, maybe just a little." Cathy taps the contents onto her compact mirror and rolls up a twenty-dollar bill then offers it to Lydia. She snorts and immediately feels warm tingles all over. "Oh! Wow!"

"I know, right? Courtesy of my brother-in-law."

"If I can only think of one nice thing to say about Damien Sinclair, it's that he knows quality."

Cathy laughs, "So will I see you at Damien and Veronica's party next Saturday?"

"I'll be there, now that I know you're going."

"Well, I don't know anyone in this town who isn't," Cathy bends her head to take an enormous snort.

A little while later, both women emerge from the bathroom arm in arm and giggling. They separate with a kiss on the cheek and Cathy sits back down at her table.

"What took you so long?" her dinner guest enquires.

"I ran into a friend, and you know how it is, girls in bathrooms."

"No – I've not really experienced that,"

"Oh, Debbie honey, I didn't mean to offend you.  You have led such a sheltered life, haven't you?"

"I used to think it was normal, but it's not normal, is it?"

"Have you made any friends at college yet?"

"Not yet, I guess I really haven't tried that hard to be sociable."

"It'll get better, you've just got to put yourself out there," Cathy reaches over to squeeze her niece's hand.

"Aunt Cathy, I really appreciate you busting me out and taking me to dinner."

"It was easy, I just had to slip Munnalita a few notes and she was more than happy to keep her mouth shut. In fact, I do believe she quite enjoyed being part of the scheme." Cathy winked. Debbie was not as amused; in fact, she was on the verge of tears.

"I'm in such a shitty situation, I'm eighteen years old, and I have to stay home every night because my parents have forbidden me to go out. I see other girls my age going out to clubs or hanging out at the strip.  Honestly, I feel like I've been grounded my whole life."

"We'll keep tonight our secret then, Scout's honour!" Cathy holds three fingers up in a comical salute.  Her shoulders slump when she fails to make Debbie smile, then asks, "Where are your parents this evening?"

"At a premiere, with that Lilith woman. That's what the last fight was about."

"What happened?"

"It ended up getting physical. She's getting worse, her behaviour. She threw a bottle at me and it missed my head by inches."

"Whatever did you say to her to make her do that?"

"I called her out, I told her I think she's afraid that he worships Lilith more than her – and that's when she exploded."

"Oh dear.  I'm afraid you touched on the sorest point. Veronica's not really an evil person, she's just very fragile. She has no confidence, not really.  I think she is jealous of anyone that takes Damien's attention away from her.  She's even jealous of you, I think."

"That doesn't any make sense, I'm their daughter."

"Veronica had a very strained relationship with our mother, so she doesn't have any idea how to be a mom, instead she sees you as a rival not as a daughter."

"That doesn't excuse how she is to me."

"Honey, I'm not asking you to forgive her, just try and understand her. You need to know what buttons to avoid pushing." Their entrées arrive. "I just love shrimp cocktail, don't you?" Cathy digs in while Debbie plays around with her fork.

"I met a boy," she blurts out.

Cathy nearly chokes then swallows. "What?"

"We've only been talking, but he is really cute, and I think he likes me."

"Well, spill the tea. Where did you meet him?"

"He works at our place, doing odd jobs."

"Careful there Debbie, you should never fall for the hired help. They could be after a leg up in life and quite happy to use people like us to get there. Let me guess – he wants to be an actor?"

"He did say that, but he's different, there's something about him."

"For your sake, I hope you're right."

"He noticed me; I mean really noticed me, like he knew what was inside my head. I've always been invisible to people before. I can't stop thinking about him."

"Oh, so is he the reason for the dark circles under your eyes. Been mooning about him all night and not getting enough sleep," Cathy laughs.

"No, he's not the reason, but thinking about him is the only thing that keeps me sane. I sleep badly because I'm afraid to fall asleep. My nightmares are getting worse. Sometimes I find it hard to tell the difference between what's real and what's not."

"Maybe you're just going through some anxiety at the moment."

"No, it's worse than that. Sometimes I can hear voices in my head during the daytime."

Cathy moves around the booth to be closer to her niece, and quietly asks, "What do the voices say?"

"I can't really make anything out, but I know it's not good. Aunt Cathy, sometimes I feel like I'm losing my grip on reality, and I think...I think that I must be going crazy," she whispers as her eyes start to well up with tears.

"Hey, hey, look at me." She grips Debbie's wrists, "You are not crazy. You just need a little help, that's all." She strokes Debbie's cheek, wiping away tears.

Cathy reaches into her handbag and produces a business card. "Here. She's the top shrink in Hollywood, very hard to get into but if you mention my name, you're sure to get an appointment.  I want to take care of the bill too, so ask them to send the account to me."

Debbie sniffles as she hugs her aunt. "Thank you, you've shown me so much more kindness than my own mother ever has, or ever will." She holds the card in her palm. Doctor Celia Grey, Hollywood Psychiatrist.

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