Chapter 53 Lee
Lee
Lee took her Zoom meeting with Ben Morris and her ex-love Jason from a patio table at a taverna near Regan’s apartment. She’d fed Yassus early that morning, noticed his ribs were less prominent. He’d actually wagged his tail when he saw her—a first.
Ben wore his long hair in two braids and appeared to be sitting in a dim cave. Lee had never met Ben in person but loved his work—he’d directed two actors to Academy Award nominations, though neither had won.
Jason looked amazing, if a bit plastic—his forehead was very shiny. He sat at a desk in front of a movie poster: Brad Pitt in Fight Club. Subtle, thought Lee. She still wanted to kiss him—his lips were even plumper than when he’d been hers.
“I’ll be honest, Lee,” said Ben, “I didn’t know your oeuvre…until Jason told me about your press conference. And, of course, the photos in Villa Mercedes.”
“Is there any news about Regan, Lee Lee?” said Jason, using his old nickname for her. He was so fake! His concern was obviously an act, but Lee was as trained as he: She simply shook her head, looking sorrowful, and ran her fingertips down her neck to her beautiful collarbones.
“No news,” she breathed, looking at the men through her eyelashes.
“I’m sorry,” said Ben, transfixed.
Morning sunlight, falling through a vine-covered outdoor canopy, made patterns on Lee’s table. The waitress, an older Greek woman, returned with her order: sesame-covered bread rings and honey-soaked donuts with a cold frappé.
“Lee,” said Ben. “I’m sorry to be meeting during this difficult time in your life.
I can’t even fathom what a nightmare you’re inside right now, with your sister missing.
I just wanted you to know that I’ve been searching for my Lady Caroline Lamb for six months.
Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know is about Lord Byron, but Lady Caroline was his most important lover, arguably more pivotal to his development than his wife. ”
“Really?” said Lee, playing the na?f. It was familiar, this sense of determining who she should become and executing the role. She had missed this. Being yourself was awful.
“Ariana Grande is in final talks for Lady Byron,” Jason chimed in.
“Wow,” said Lee, impressed.
“Lady Caroline was a wealthy socialite,” Ben continued.
“She was stunningly beautiful, infamous, and daring. If women weren’t allowed at a party, she dressed as a male page and snuck in.
She was older than Byron—she became a novelist in her own right.
Byron was obsessed with her. They wrote each other very erotic love letters.
Like, look—” He riffled through a small notebook, found the page, and quoted Byron: “Then your heart…what a little volcano! That pours lava through your veins.”
“ ‘Lava through your veins,’ ” said Jason, reverentially. “Lee, you are like a volcano, to be honest,” he added.
“They sent each other…” Ben stopped, his face reddening. He swallowed, then said, “They sent each other pubic hair clippings.”
Lee raised her eyebrows.
“Lee, I have auditioned every single actress in Hollywood and some in London,” Ben barreled on.
“You are Lady Caroline Lamb. Here…look at her,” said Ben, holding a full-color image of a portrait in front of his camera, mercifully turning on a light.
The picture showed a woman in a richly detailed page’s outfit, complete with a velvet doublet and breeches.
Lady Caroline wore a small feathered cap, curls escaping and framing her face.
She looked self-assured, fully aware of her scandalous nature and proud of it.
“Oh,” said Lee.
Jason made a happy hmmm sound in the back of his throat. Lee couldn’t tear her eyes away from Lady Caroline’s face. That expression, how daring!
She picked up a warm, crusty koulouri and took a bite, followed by a mouthful of a loukoumades donut.
At the table next to her, two old men argued.
One, dressed in a worn, gray sweater and a flat cap, gestured animatedly with calloused hands as he spoke, a half-empty cup of strong Greek coffee before him.
“Those photos from the nightclub…the authenticity of them, your raw beauty—that’s exactly what I need for this film.”
“I was in a manic state, Ben…I’m back on my medications now.”
“Yes, I know,” said Ben.
“And that is great,” said Jason the Sycophant. “Mental health is so important,” he added.
“I wasn’t performing—”
“That’s what makes you powerful!” Ben leaned in. “No artifice, no Hollywood polish. Just pure, unfiltered emotion!”
Lee stared at Ben. “You’re saying you want to cast me because I had a public breakdown?”
“I’m saying I want to cast you because you’re willing to go to places other actresses won’t go. Lady Caroline was notorious for her public scenes, her beautiful madness. You understand that from the inside.”
“I don’t—”
“The vulnerability, Lee. The way you looked lost but luminous at the same time in those tabloid shots. That’s what I want to capture on film. That’s what’s going to win you an Oscar.”
Lee wanted an Oscar. Oh, how she wanted an Oscar. “What if I can’t access that…anymore?” she said softly.
“You can. I can get you there.”
Lee looked again at the portrait of Lady Caroline, lit up by passion and probably mania.
“Lee,” said Ben, “will you be my Lady Caroline?”
“Say yes, Lee Lee,” said Jason.
Lee inhaled. She wanted this. “Call Francine,” said Lee.
That night, back at Regan’s apartment, Lee lay awake listening to sirens in the distance. She thought about Lady Caroline Lamb, a mental wreck, desperate for attention. Perfect casting, really. Ben Morris had seen exactly who she was.
—
Francine had called her with an offer that should have changed everything. But in the dark, Lee felt blue and alone. She went to count her sleeping pills—the Greek physician had given her a full month’s worth—but she didn’t take one.
She wanted to have them all if she needed them all.