Chapter 2: The Season of Success, Part IV and V

IV.

Early the next morning, after a breakfast of cereal and fruit, Nick and Tracy shared an elevator down to the first floor where they went their separate ways. Nick went to work out in the gym, while Tracy went to the pool.

At seven in the morning the pool was deserted, which was the way Tracy liked it. She changed into a white one-piece swimsuit, dove into the deep end, and began swimming laps slowly and methodically, alternating her laps from overarm crawl to breast stroke to backstroke and back again.

Her thoughts as she swam dwelt on her TV series.

If we are picked up for another season, she thought, I hope they'll write in some more scuba diving scenes. They probably wouldn't let us go back to the Great Barrier Reef, but the Florida Keys would be nice. Or anywhere in Hawaii.

Or skiing. I'd like to go someplace that has some good downhill skiing. I wonder if I could persuade them to film in San Moritz.  I'd love to go to San Moritz...

As usual, she was the first to return to the suite. (Nick performed several reps on the gym's Universal Press machine, then ran for half an hour on the treadmill while watching a morning news show.)

As Tracy entered the room she heard beeping from her cellphone. She picked up the phone and saw that her agent had phoned.

Tracy took a deep, calming breath as she hit the Recall button.

“Hullo, Betty.”

“Hi, Tracy." Betty had a cheerful, Bronx-accented voice.  "Have you look at the ratings for last night's premiere yet?”

“No…I was avoiding it. What’s the news?”

“Girl, the episode was the highest rated show in that time slot. And the network had focus groups out in force. Based on the reaction to this first episode, I’d say we’re looking at another hit season.”

Tracy pumped her fist. “Yes!”

“The rest of the cast were at the premiere party the studio threw  last night. The network boys were really disappointed you weren't there, too. “

“They don’t have the right to be angry,” Tracy said a bit irritably. “It’s not our fault they moved up the premiere by a week and then didn't tell us until after we'd already made other commitments.”

“True, true,” Betty said soothingly.

“Besides, Spencer, Gertrude and __________ are pretty popular. They have their share of fans.”

“Yes, girl, a truly successful ensemble cast – that's part of what made the show a hit last year and what’s going to make it a hit this year, I have no doubt. But you and Nick are the stars and you don’t want to be eclipsed by your supporting cast, do you?”

“There's no need to worry, Betty. Private Lives closes in seven more days. Nick and I will be returning to Studio City next Monday.”

“Very good. Well, I've got lots of things lined up for you when you return, starting with appearances on that new talk show..."

“Hold on, Betty. I hope you're not going overboard. I don't want to have to go on a talk show every single day!”

Tracy heard a heavy sigh from her agent. “Girl, there is no over-exposure where publicity for a TV series is concerned.”

“But…”

“No, no,” Betty interrupted quickly. “I understand. You don’t want to get worn out with your personal appearances. I’ll look out for you, don’t worry. Now, where is Nick, do you know? I left a message for him as well.”

Betty ended the connection. Tracy flung her hands in the air and sashayed around the room.

She was still dancing when Nick returned from his workout, ten minutes later. She danced up to him, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips.

"Let me guess," Nick said calmly, resting his hands on her hips and smiling. "Good news?"
 

"We killed in the ratings," Tracy told him triumphantly. "And the focus groups were very positive."

"Yeah, baby," said Nick, and kissed her on the lips.

This brief congratulatory kiss extended into one long, sensuous kiss, and then as one they turned and headed into the bedroom.

After they had made love, they cuddled for a while, and Tracy rested her head on Nick's chest. 

 "You were right, Nick," she murmured, "you were right. I should never have doubted you."

"When it comes to judging what the fans will like, I am always right," Nick said.

Tracy caressed his arm. "You're very good at knowing what I like, too," she said.
 

Nick chuckled. Then he sighed.

“It will be nice to get back to Studio City,” he said. “Much as I love having our meals delivered morning, noon and night and our bed made up every day by delightful little elves, one can have too much of luxury.”

“It can get addictive,” Tracy acknowledged.  She reached out and ran her hand down the smooth sheets of Egyptian cotton. "Just think. We could leave this suite in a few minutes and go for a walk in Central Park, and when we return this bed will be made and look pristine."

“We could hire someone,” Nick said. “There’s plenty of maid services…and food delivery services, for that matter. After all, we’ve both been in a rather nice little income bracket for over a year and it looks like we're going to stay there for at least another couple of years. Why not splurge?”

“It’s a thought,” said Tracy. “Spread the wealth a bit, support a local small business or two....I like it. I’ll look into it when we get back home.”

Nick nodded and rested his chin on the top of her head. "Should we leave this suite in a few minutes?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"After celebratory sex should come a celebratory hot fudge sundae at the Sundae Shoppe."

"I like the way you think, my dear," said Tracy. "Let's get dressed."

V.

Two weeks and two more highly-rated episodes later, the verdict was in. The second season of The Coldest Equations was a hit, and the network officially commissioned a third season.

The week after that, the producers called Tracy and Nick in for a script conference.  Present at the conference were Milly Mulholland and Terry Janasz, the producers, and Charlie Woodbridge and his wife Margery, the head scriptwriters.

Milly’s secretary made the rounds of the oval table, ensuring that everyone had fresh coffee, tea or a soft drink, depending on their taste, and then disappeared from the room.   

Milly Mulholland neatened the papers in front of her and then interlaced her fingers and gazed around the table, “at the ranks,” as Tracy always thought. 

Milly always reminded her of an Army general who conducted her meetings with military precision. She also had a habit of starting every meeting by recounting events from the very beginning of recorded time. Tracy was never sure if she was doing this to remind herself of what had gone on before, or if she liked to do it as a kind of strange practical joke, as she must know that everyone else in the room already knew what she was talking about backwards and forewards.

“As you know,” Milly began portentously, “each season of The Coldest Equations has an interlocked plot. In season one, we presented a near-future where all work on space exploration is conducted by gigantic corporations, each one a rival to get their space station, or moon station, or Mars station into production first, and each corporation infested by spies who were tasked to find out all the good technology that their competitors were working on, and make off with it if they could. At the same time, each corporation had their own anti-espionage team tasked with preventing that very thing. 

And you, Tracy, as Miranda Rainbird, were in charge of one of these elite groups of agents.”

Tracy, suppressing an urge to roll her eyes, merely nodded. She had acted in 20 season one episodes and 20 season two episodes already and she and everyone else in the room already knew all of this.

"In the first season, you, Tracy, as Miranda Rainbird, were in charge of an elite group of agents whose task was to infiltrate one of these corporations, a villainous corporation located in a Balkan country the name of which was carefully glossed over, and rescue a scientist whom they had kidnapped, along with his research data. You were opposed by the villainous Mr. White and his coterie of counter agents, Mr. Black, Mr. Red, Ms. Taupe and Ms. Green.”

You had succeeded in making off with this scientist and his work, and spent the season protecting him and his family from capture by the villain Mr. White and company who were intent on getting him back. There were a few other plotlines introduced, but that was the gist

novelized by that wonderful author Caroline Miniscule and called The Labyrinth Makers, all of the characters were introduced over the course of the 20 episode season. Miranda Rainbird is on vacation in Australia when she is called by her boss and given an assignment to liberate a scientist from the Philidor Corporation which had a

“In season two,” Milly continued, “You had succeeded in making off with this scientist and his work, and spent the season protecting him and his family from capture by Mr. White and company who were intent on getting him back. There were a few other plotlines introduced, but that was the gist.”

Tracy and Nick nodded again, as did Terry Janasz and Charlie Woodbridge. 

“In the third season,” Milly said, and now her voice became animated, “We’re going to change things up a bit. We’re going to introduce a really exciting dynamic. Now, it’s kind of a complicated plot, so I’m going to let Charlie explain it to you.”

She gestured at Charlie Woodbridge to proceed, and settled back and sipped her coffee.

Chapter 2: The Season of Success, Part II and III

II.

“I never knew you were afraid of heights,” Tracy said presently. “I mean, you’ve been on airplanes.”

“I drink a lot on airplanes, too."

"Well...we're on the 20th floor here. You're okay with this."

"You've never seen me stand on the top of this building and look down though, have you. And I could never ride on a ski-lift, for example.”

"I see.”

Nick cast a very quick glance at her before returning his attention to the road. She was looking thoughtful.

“Standing on the edge of the roof of this building wouldn't scare you at all, I take it?”

Tracy shrugged. “Actually, no. I admit I've never climbed up to the roof of a tall building just to look down it, but I've climbed up to the top of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse several times for that very purpose. There’s a beautiful view from up there.”

Nick shuddered, only partly exaggerated.

“But when you're standing on the top of a ski slope, that’s just adrenalin, isn’t it? You stand at the top of the ski run, and your heart starts pumping, and down you go! It’s fantastic.”

Nick shuddered again.

“I suppose you go parasailing, too,” he said, slightly enviously.

“I have," Tracy said. "But I can't do it any more because of that clause in my contract. No parasailing, no skydiving, no motorcycling. It doesn’t allow me to go skiing, either – but hell, if I ever do get to San Moritz I’m going to go skiing.”

“You don’t skydive, do you?” Nick demanded.

Tracy laughed. “No, no. I'm not crazy. I've never had any desire to go sky diving. I'd be too scared to jump out of the plane, I promise you.  And bungee jumping is just stupid in my opinion. I do love to ride motorcycles, though – I miss that.”

“You’re full of surprises,” Nick told her. “I didn’t know you knew how to ride a motorcycle.”

“I learned on dirt bikes when I was a kid…did a bit of motocross. Then I got my real cycle…a Kawasaki Vulcan Classic. But when I moved to Hollywood, I started getting away from it. Too much traffic out there. And when I got the gig on The Coldest Equations, of course I didn’t have any choice thanks to my contract.”

Nick chuckled. “They missed an advertising bonanza there, I would think. Miranda Rainbird on a Kawasaki Vulcan Classic, zooming down the highway after Mr. White. Kawasaki would have probably paid millions for the product placement.”

“Maybe we should put that up to Charlie, and see if he’ll write it into a script for next season. (Charlie Woodbridge and his wife Margery were the two main writers for The Coldest Equations.) If there is a next season.”

Tracy reached out and knocked on the dashboard.

"I wish you'd stop worrying about that," Nick said. "Of course there's going to be a third season. You saw all the fans show up - at an OTR convention for goodness sake - just to see me! And the new season is absolutely fantastic."

Tracy nodded "Yes, of course, you're right," she said, putting more confidence into her voice then she actually felt.

 

Nick nodded sharply. “So, the only problem with you chasing me on a motorcycle next season is that  I don’t know how to drive a motorcycle.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have to drive one,” Tracy laughed.  “You’d sit on a cycle on a dolly strapped to the back of a car, the way they do. But they could film me doing it for real. That would be really fun. I think I will mention it to Charlie.”

Nick shook his head and smiled. She probably would, too.Her adventurous spirit, that's what he loved most about her. Probably what her fans loved about her, too.

Fans...the fans for this series were great.  Nick chuckled.

"What's so funny?" asked Tracy.

"Just thinking back to the convention. It was fun, wasn't it? I really enjoyed it. And all the folks there...they loved me."

Tracy smiled. “Everyone loves a villain,” she said. “Even me.” 

She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. 

True to form, the super cautious Nick air-kissed her back, without taking his eyes off the road.

III.

As was their usual custom, Nick dropped Tracy off a block away from the hotel and then continued on his own into the parking lot. The two actors preferred to maintain the fiction that they were not an item. For that reason, they maintained two separate suites, albeit adjacent ones.

When Tracy entered Nick's suite through the connecting door, it was to find Nick in the kitchenette, gazing thoughtfully into the refrigerator.

Tracy sat down on the couch, picked up the TV remote control and turned on the TV. "We got back just in time, Nick," she said.

"You're not going to watch the premiere episode after all?" Nick queried.

“No," she said. "His Kind of Woman."

 “With Robert Mitchum?”Nick demanded, delighted.

“With Vincent Price!”

Nick laughed.  “I’ll prepare a plate of cheese and crackers, you choose the wine.”

Chapter 2: The Season of Success, Part I

I.

“When did you first meet Nick, Mike?”

The convention had ended in the early afternoon, and the organizers had invited Nick to dinner. He’d asked if he could bring along a date, and they’d said of course.
 

There were six of them at the table – the four organizers, Nick, and his girlfriend….whom he’d introduced as Mike, seated on his right side. Tracy still wore her blonde wig, her fat suit, and her teeth. 

When Tracy went out as herself she did not hide her light under a bushel. She could talk knowledgeably on a wide range of subjects, and did. She could tell serious stories or humorous stories with élan, and was at home in all companies.

                

When she was in one of her disguises, she did not necessarily change her behavior. She had a role to play and she played it, with that little frisson of excitement if the slightest wrong move – a recognizable gesture, a vocal inflection, a laugh- and her disguise could be penetrated. It might be safer not to be thought to be bragging too much, to cause someone to pay too much attention to her, but that would defeat the object of the game.

Tracy spoke in an intriguingly-accented Audrey Hepburn-ishish type of voice – one she’d perfected after watching Charade and How To Steal a Million.

“I met him in Switzerland about a year ago,” she said, glancing mischievously at Nick. “He came there to buy a cuckoo clock, and he took me home instead, didn’t you darling?”

Nick was an intelligent man, an educated man, but he wasn’t much on improvisation and Tracy’s forays into the realms of fantasy always made him nervous, as he struggled to follow her lead. Now all he did was smile and say, “If you say so, darling,” putting the onus back on her to continue the story.

Tracy’s chuckle tinkled like a silver bell. “Oh, Nick, you’re such a stick in the mud. No, gentlemen, I tell you the truth. I am from Switzerland, and if you can believe it, I had never been to San Moritz until last year, and I had never ski-ed before. I spent one day on the…you call it the bunny slope, yes? – and decided that I was then good enough to go onto the slopes for grownups. 

The first person I ran over, fortunately, was Nick, and instead of picking me up and shoving me onward down the hill unceremoniously, he spent the rest of the day teaching me how to ski properly. Isn’t that so, Nick?”

               

“Well, I tried to teach you,” Nick said cautiously.

“He’s so modest,” Tracy said, shaking her head sorrowfully. “But I must tell you, that is how we met. And of course I recognized him from his television series, so I was very much flattered by his attention. And we have been friends ever since.”

She took a sip of water. She’d give Nick back the stage, she decided. “But this is the first time I have seen him in such a performance as this…this radio re-enactment. I enjoyed it very much. Tell me, Nick, have you acted on the radio before?”

Nick was on surer ground, now, and entertained the rest of the table with the history of how he’d become interested in old time radio.

The dinner ended successfully.

 

“We know the first episode of the new season of The Coldest Equations is airing tonight,” Patrick, one of the organizers, said diffidently. “As a matter of fact we’re going to have a party to watch it. Would you care to join us?”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Nick, “but as actors we…I mean…I, am superstitious about such things.  I don’t watch myself on TV.”

The group broke up, shaking hands and saying warm farewells, and then Nick and Tracy were headed back to New York and the hotel suite they were occupying during the run of Private Lives.

“Do you plan to tell that story again, Tracy?” Nick asked as he drove.

“What story?” Tracy queried, looking up from The Case of the Disappearing Doctor. 

“About me teaching you how to ski.”

 

“Well, I don’t know, Nick. I don’t know that I’ll ever play the role of the blond-haired Swiss again. But it was a good story, wasn’t it?”

“It was good except for two problems. You’re the one who is an expert downhill skier, and I’m the one who has never been on a ski hill and never will be, because I’m terrified of heights.”

“What does that matter?” Tracy asked curiously.

“Well, what if one of these stories of yours gets around to a casting director or something, and all of a sudden I get offered a part that entails me being an expert skier. I’d have to turn it down and what excuse could I give?”

Tracy laughed. “Oh, you know better than that, Nick. No one in the movies does real skiing. They’ll put you on a pair of skis and you’ll crouch down in front of one of those blue screens, and the mountain scenery will just zoom by realistically.”

“It still makes me nervous,” Nick said obstinately.

“Well, look at it this way, then. I don’t think it matters how well they think you can ski. If you get offered a movie role – and please god you will be, after our series has had a successful five year run!, there’s no way the producers are going to risk having you break a leg or something. Even if they choose you because you’re an expert skier, they still won’t let you do any skiing, no matter how hard you plead. You’ll be in front of a blue screen for close-ups, and a stuntman will do all your skiing for you. After all, that’s what they’re for.”

Nick grinned, ruefully. “That’s true. Thank god for stunt men.”

“And stunt women.”