Chapter 29 Beck
Beck
Late November
“She implied that if I slept with her, she’d get me an audition for a film.
” Andy Ledfield sits tall in the witness box in a room that doesn’t even vaguely resemble the courtrooms on Law & Order, a show liberally sprinkled with Beck’s clients.
No, this room is painfully generic. The windows are so dirty they’re opaque.
It lacks gravitas, and it doesn’t seem right that Beck’s career will be decided in such a forgettable place.
Her heart thuds and rolls, a gutter ball in her chest. If she loses, she has no idea what she’ll do next.
At least the trial date got moved up. The judge’s niece apparently interned with Ezra and owed him a favor, and there was a continuance on another case, a postponement with another and, bingo, here they are.
“And how did she imply that, Mr. Ledfield?” asks his attorney.
Eleanor Something, a young woman who looks like she’s all of seventeen.
Killer suit, gorgeous skin. If she weren’t representing Andy the Idiot, Beck might have approached her and asked if she’d ever wanted to act.
She has that sparkle. This is not in Beck’s favor at the moment, because the jury loves her.
Andy tries hard to look young and dismayed. “She said, ‘Come back to my place, and let’s see how good you are.’ At acting, I thought, but then she put the moves on me, so I went along with it.”
The thing is, Andy sounds credible. If he’d been half as good at his Jack Nicholson impression as he is at lying right now, Beck might have had him read for something. She unclenches her fists, then reminds herself to relax, because innocent people should look relaxed.
“And by ‘went along with it,’ you mean you had sex with her.”
“I felt I had to.”
You little dick. Beck rubs her aching leg.
It’s raining today, which makes her upper leg feel like it’s filled with lead.
On the stand, Andy is doing that cheapest of acting tricks—not blinking so tears will form in his eyes.
She can see his eyelids quivering with the effort of staying open.
Can Ezra point that out to the jury? She scrawls a note.
He glances at it and shakes his head almost imperceptibly.
“And then what happened?” Andy’s attorney asks gently, as if knowing this is so, so painful for her client.
“Then she kicked me out and told me never to contact her again. I felt so used and . . . and . . . naive.” Andy wipes a tiny, induced tear from his eye.
“I honestly thought she’d give me a chance .
. . sex in exchange for an opportunity or a part.
You know. Like Harvey Weinstein.” A murmur goes through the courtroom, and Beck’s jaw clamps.
“Like Harvey Weinstein, the convicted sex offender?” asks Eleanor firmly, gazing at the jurors.
“Yes. Exactly like him.”
“I have nothing further, Your Honor.” She shakes her head sadly, then goes back to her table.
Ezra stands. He looks rumpled, which he told Beck is one of his strategies in court.
Man of the people, not some flashy hotshot in a $3,000 suit.
This one looks like it’s been balled up in his trunk for the past few months.
A prickle of fear shoots through Beck’s limbs.
This is her reputation on the line, after all.
Her livelihood, hanging in the balance because of this absurd doofus on the stand.
If Beck is found guilty, she’ll have to empty out her savings in damages to the ridiculous Andy, sell her apartment, and become a bartender or janitor or one of those people who drives the carriages in Central Park (okay, that last one doesn’t sound too bad).
Relax, she tells herself. You did nothing wrong.
“Mr. Ledfield, do you need a drink of water or a moment to collect yourself?” Ezra asks.
“No . . . no, I’m okay,” Andy says, giving a wobbly, brave smile. Beck rolls her eyes, and Ezra shoots her a warning look.
“Great,” says Ezra. “Andy, did you tell Ms. Morrow that you were an actor before you asked her out?”
“Um, yeah.” Andy’s tone says obviously.
“Sorry . . . didn’t you tell her you worked in finance?”
“Maybe. I mean, I did work at a bank at the time.”
“What was your role at the bank?”
“I was a teller,” Andy says.
“But you said finance?” Ezra sounds confused.
“Maybe. I don’t remember.”
“So your memory of that night isn’t clear?”
“No! It is. I did say I was in finance, yes.” He fidgets. Good, Beck thinks. Fidget more, you lying dung heap.
Ezra looks at his notes. “And you paid for drinks. Wow. Fifty-five dollars for two cocktails? Crazy! But you chose the bar and paid for the drinks. Do you think it’s reasonable to say that Ms. Morrow thought you were perhaps a bit more successful in, ah, finance?
That she had no idea you were a bank-teller-slash-aspiring-actor? ”
“She knew,” Andy says firmly.
“She knew you worked in finance, because that’s what you told her,” Ezra says.
“I . . . I guess.”
“So you fudged the truth a little. Got it.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Eleanor the Lawyer says.
“Sustained,” the judge says.
“Withdrawn,” Ezra says, but the seeds have been planted. Andy is unreliable. Beck glances over at Eleanor, who’s pretending Andy is doing great, staring at him, nodding slightly.
“You said earlier that you always dreamed of being an actor,” Ezra says. “Since you were a kid, you testified.”
“Yes. Always.”
“Mr. Ledfield, you said you met Ms. Morrow at a wrap party for a film. But you hadn’t been invited to this party, is that correct?”
“Well, my cousin—”
“Answer the question, please. Had you been invited to the party where you met Ms. Morrow?”
“Uh, no.”
Ezra stares at him patiently.
“I mean, I wasn’t officially invited. I went with my cousin because his friend worked on the set.”
“Was your cousin invited to the party?”
“I don’t know. I think so.” Andy looks at his attorney again.
“We can get him in here and ask,” Ezra says helpfully.
Andy’s expression turns sullen. “No. He wasn’t invited. His friend mentioned it, and me and my cousin figured we could get in and meet some of the stars.”
“So you crashed a party in order to meet people in the film industry,” Ezra says.
Beck notices that Andy’s attorney is stiffening. A good sign.
Andy shifts again. “I guess.”
“You guess, or you know?”
“Yes. We crashed the party.” He looks at his hands.
“And when you found out my client was a casting director, is it fair to say you saw a chance to break into the business through her?” Yes! Thank you, Ezra!
“Well, sure. And I was, like, psyched when she asked me out.”
Beck cleared her throat. Objection, Your Honor, she wants to say, but Ezra’s on it.
“My client asked you out?”
“Yes.” More fidgeting.
“But you paid for drinks that night and then paid for dinner later that same week. A very expensive dinner, no less, at a restaurant you chose, one that was close to her apartment.”
“That’s right. I wanted to make a good impression. You know, to show her I was grateful for the chance.” He looks at the jury, his eyes wide. Beck wants to kick him. Eleanor seems pleased with Andy’s answer.
“Over dinner, did Ms. Morrow talk about any specific roles she thought you’d be good for?”
“Um . . . no.”
“Did she ask about your past experience as an actor? I would expect that, if she knew you were an actor, she’d want to know what roles you’d played, which commercials you’d been in, that sort of thing.”
Andy says nothing.
“Did she ask about that?” Ezra nudges.
“No.”
“Just out of curiosity, what is your past acting experience?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Eleanor says. “Relevance.”
“Your Honor, Mr. Ledfield is asking us to believe he and my client discussed acting before they were intimate. I think it’s a reasonable question.”
“Agreed. Continue, Mr. Rose,” says the judge.
“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Ledfield? Your acting experience?” Ezra says.
Andy scowls. “I don’t have any.”
Ezra lets that sit. “None? None at all?”
The Force is shifting to Beck’s favor, and hope floods through her. Eleanor writes something on her notepad. Beck guesses it’s a curse word.
“I was in my high school play senior year,” Andy says, a slight whine in his voice.
“What play was that?”
“Our Town.”
“I love that one,” Ezra says. “What role did you play?”
Andy hesitates. “I was one of the townspeople.”
“Was it a speaking part?” Ezra says. Savage, Beck thinks happily. She tries not to smile.
“No,” Andy answers, slumping a little.
“Remind me, how old are you, Mr. Ledfield?” Oh, Beck loves Ezra. She’s going to give him and his wife a huge gift certificate to Peter Luger’s for this.
“I’m thirty-six,” Andy says.
“And you’ve wanted to be an actor since you were a kid?”
“Yes.”
“In the eighteen years since your nonspeaking role in your high school play, did you ever try to get an agent or go to casting calls?”
Andy’s face turns red. Beck has to cover her mouth so the jurors don’t see her smile. “Yes,” Andy says. “Of course I did. But I never got a part. I mean, I came close.”
“Did you, now.” Ezra gazes at the jury. “But not one acting job since you were eighteen. Hm.”
“In a lot of cases, it’s who you know,” Andy says, leaning forward, speaking to the jury.
“Zoe Kravitz, Ben Stiller, Kate Hudson, Michael Douglas . . . they all got a chance based on whose kid they were. Or, like, Harrison Ford. He was a carpenter installing a door in George Lucas’s office when they asked him to read for Han Solo.
He’d never had a part in a movie before, either. ”
Wrong! Objection! Beck jerks her head at Ezra so she can correct this.
Harrison Ford was in a number of films before Star Wars, including American Graffiti, directed by, guess who, George Lucas.
(But yes, Harrison Ford was also a carpenter back then.) Beck clears her throat pointedly, but Ezra ignores her.
Andy’s point has landed. Some of the jurors are nodding.
And it is true that some actors had a leg up because of their parents.
“So knowing Ms. Morrow would’ve helped you get a part,” Ezra says.