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Margaritaville by Beth Arritt Copyright 1998
"Imagine...having your baby live on the radio."
"Very exciting. I bet all of Pittsburgh was listening."
"It's a good thing there are no pictures in radio."
Hilary let the excited chatter of the other occupants of the green room wash over her as she rose to get another cup of coffee. A baby being born at the station had been exciting. And it had gotten a great deal of publicity for the station. And made the entire station feel like parents. But none of them were. She glanced around at her co-workers. All of them had dedicated their lives to radio, and even though they weren't exactly professionally trained actors, she supposed they would do. For Pittsburgh.
She had dedicated her life to acting. It was everything she'd wanted as long as she could remember. She had no use for children. They messed up your figure, they turned your world upside down, and took you out of contention for any number of roles because of the time they demanded. And God help you if you had to act with them. Unruly, upstaging, scene-stealing snots.
Hilary slipped out of the room and into the lobby, no longer able to stand the chatter. That poor girl had no idea what she was in for. Sure, right now she was happy with her new little bundle of diapers and the attention of the baby's wayward father, but what happened a few years from now. The baby would be a whiny, crying toddler, Cora would probably be fat from having more children, and Gus would be asleep on a couch, no help at all. How soon the bloom fades from the rose.
Of course, the little baby boy was quite adorable, once they cleaned him up and quieted him down. He even seemed to be rather good-natured about the circumstances surrounding his arrival and the totally unprepared group that awaited him. He was even cute as he lay there in his mother's arms, staring wide-eyed at the faces she made at him.
"Hilary."
And he would probably grow up to be a cowardly rogue with a wandering eye and no concept of loyalty. "What is it, Jeffrey?" she asked as she spun around to face him.
He stopped about a foot from her and studied her face. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm fine, not that it's any concern of yours." She turned away to glance through the mail on Gertie's desk.
"Hilary, I wanted to talk to you about--"
"Jeffrey, if this is one of your pathetic attempts to get me to understand your abominable actions, I'm not in the mood."
"No," he replied after a brief pause. "I actually wanted to talk to you about--"
She dropped the mail onto the desk and whirled to face him in one swift motion. "I don't feel like talking. Whatever it is, it will have to wait."
"It can't wait any longer."
"I'm sorry, it will just have to." She pulled her coat off of the rack by the door and hurried out, leaving a stunned Jeff staring after her. She'd walked two blocks when she realized two things. She should have taken a cab, and someone was following her. Her eyes darted around, looking for an escape. She spotted one business still open, so she ducked through the doors. It was only once she was inside that she realized she had chosen O'Malley's as a haven.
She couldn't go back outside; her stalker might still be out there. So she decided to sit quietly at a table and have a drink. She had barely sat down when a hand on her shoulder made her jump.
"You can't get rid of me that easily, Hilary."
"Sorry, Jeffrey, would it help if I paraded a couple of blondes in front of you instead?"
He sighed. "Just for a moment, can you try to put your petty differences with me aside and--"
"Petty? I wouldn't exactly call marrying another women petty. Boorish, oafish, downright stupid, yes, but--" she stopped as she realized he was giving her *that* look. The one that made her feel as if she were twelve years old and being quite rude. She liked to be young, but not that young. "Fine. You want to talk to me, buy me a drink." She could use one, and if she had to be subjected to this, it might as well cost him something other than hot air.
He motioned for the waiter. Hilary ordered two margaritas. Jeff blinked at her as he ordered a martini, but he wisely kept quiet about her order. "Hilary--" he began, but she silenced him with a hand.
"Ah, ah, ah. Not until I get my drink," she chirped. He tapped his fingers lightly on the table and waited for the waiter. When the drinks arrived and the water walked away, he opened his mouth again.
"Not yet," she said immediately. He frowned at her while she drank one of the margaritas in one long drink. "Now," she said, grimacing delicately, "what is it you wanted to speak to me about?"
He drank his martini in one gulp, then signaled to the waiter as he spoke. "I want you to stop patronizing me on the air."
She laughed and took a drink of the second margarita. "Jeffrey, dear, if you don't like my acting in Bedside Manor, you can always go on a national tour for a year or fifty. You don't have to stay."
"I'm not talking about Bedside Manor. I'm talking about all the rest of the shows. Deliberately reading your lines in the wrong tone, overacting..." he paused as the waiter brought them each another drink. "You're making a mockery of our shows."
"I don't have to," she said as she finished off her margarita and reached for the new one. "They make mockeries all on their own."
"See, that's exactly what I mean. You treat the shows like they're nothing, and you don't care who knows it." He downed his martini. "You can torture me all you want for all the things you think I deserve it for, but leave the rest of the cast out of it."
Her eyebrows arched. "And what, prey tell, am I doing to the rest of the cast? I don't write the dialogue."
"No, you just say it like this." He fluttered his lids at her. "Oh, doctor, your hands are magic," he mimicked in a breathy falsetto.
She giggled as she finished the margarita and held the glass up in the waiter's direction. "Forget me, I think you should read all your lines like that. Might improve your acting."
"It would certainly make yours seem more believable." The waiter brought them more drinks and took the empty glasses away. He continued babbling, but she drowned him out for a moment, her mind suddenly occupied with what he'd said. There was nothing wrong with her acting. He was just upset because she wouldn't take him back.
So what if she had gone a little over the top on a few lines here and there. It was only radio in Pittsburgh, it wasn't like there was a reviewer out there somewhere waiting to pounce. It wasn't Broadway.
It was only radio in Pittsburgh.
Her life devoted to acting had wound up being only radio in Pittsburgh. All the sacrificing, all the producers and directors she'd courted, and it had landed her on radio in Pittsburgh.
"I need another drink."
Jeff stopped mid-diatribe. "You have one."
"Oh. Good for me." She picked up the margarita and took a drink as he continued. Cora and Gus would have children and a home to comfort them in the future. Hilary Booth would have some faded reviews and a microphone, if she was lucky. Suddenly she didn't feel quite as sorry for them.
She focused on Jeff as he lectured her on the virtues of the people she worked with every day. "They've stood behind you in more than one pinch."
"They kept me from drowning when you left me high-and-dry," she agreed.
He looked surprised that she had agreed with him. Then he thought about what she said. "Hilary...I tried to tell you what was going on, but..."
"I know. Victor's life was at stake, the Nazis had to be stopped, and all of that was much more important than one wife."
"Not more important," he said quietly, placing his hand over hers, "Just slightly more life-threatening." He smiled as she arched her brows. "I said 'slightly'."
She thought of all the fights they'd had, and the delicious making up that followed. "Oh, Jeff...I'm tired. I don't want to fight anymore."
"You're giving up?" He sounded panicked at the thought.
"No, I'm giving in." She leaned over and kissed him, managing to capture his lips only because of his quick movement to the side when he realized she was headed for the area somewhere around his ear.
He put her at arms length and studied her. "You're drunk."
"I'm not drunk. I'm peasantly warm. You just think bat thecause you're drunk."
He blinked, then rubbed his nose. "You might be right. But you're still drunk."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Prove it."
"Okay." He leaned over and whispered something in her ear.
Her eyes opened wide and she stared at him for a moment before a smile broke out on her face. She nodded, and he dropped some money on the table for the drinks before pulling her out of the bar.
***
Hilary awoke with a pounding headache the next morning. She turned over in the bed, then froze as she heard light snoring. She was sure she was awake, so it couldn't be her. She moved her foot backwards slowly across the bed. When it connected with a leg that wasn't hers, her eyes flew open. She sat up and looked at the bed beside her. "Jeffrey! What are you--AARGH!" She jumped out of the bed and grabbed her robe. "Get out!"
Jeff woke up and rubbed his eyes. "What the...Hilary? What's wrong with you?"
"Me? You! I mean you're wrong with me. You're wrong! You. Here. Wrong!"
"Don't you remember any of last night?"
She sat down on a chair and concentrated. "I went to O'Malley's...and you followed me." She closed her eyes, trying to put the images that followed in some coherent order. "We left the bar after you--oh!" She glanced down at her left hand, dismayed but not surprised to see the wedding ring she'd thrown at him his first night back after he'd followed her home. "You...you...I can't think of anything to call you, that's how bad you are!"
He was apparently becoming aware that this bedroom was not the safest place for him to be, because he was dressing in a hurry. "But you said...I asked you and you said yes."
She remembered Jeff waking up a judge in the middle of the night and asking him to marry them. They'd convinced him to do it, even without the proper paperwork. "You're already married! What on earth possessed you to marry me when you have a wife running amok around the country selling secrets to Hitler?"
"You possessed me, Hilary." He moved as close to her as he dared. "I couldn't think about anything else--"
"Out! Get out!" He hesitated. "I said OUT!!" The last word ended in a shriek. Jeff grabbed his jacket and shoes and hurried out the door. She stared after him for a minute before she sunk down to the bed. What had she done? Never again. She'd never drink margaritas. They always got her into too much trouble.
She took a deep breath, and a scent assaulted her nose. A single tear traveled down her cheek as she reached out and grabbed the pillow Jeff had just vacated. She hugged it to her and wiped the tear away. "Oh, Jeffrey...."
After another deep breath, she forced herself to stand up and put the pillow down. She had to be on the air in an hour. No matter what else happened, she always had her work. It was the one thing that never let her down.