John sat on the edge of the bed, carefully removing a pair of socks. Cynthia, who had been lying on the bed, sat up. “John,” she playfully scolded, “are you going to take forever to come to bed?”
John let the socks fall to the floor and turned to face Cynthia. “It’s been two years, Cynthia,” he passionately replied. “If you waited that long, surely you can hold out for another two minutes.”
She put her arms around him. “I can’t wait another two seconds,” she tenderly told him, adding: “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” he said. Their eyes met and refused to let go. Their faces drifted closer…closer…and, then…
Cynthia chastely pecked John on the cheek and turned away from him, even though it was she who held him in her arms. From somewhere on the soundstage, a director angrily shouted, “Cut!” Cynthia took the opportunity to release Jeff and jump off the bed altogether.
As the soundstage began humming with activity, the director walked up to Cynthia. He was practically trembling. “Cynthia,” he remarked, in a bitchy tone suggesting ill-concealed anger, “John is the lover you have been faithful to for the last two years despite the fact that he was falsely accused of heroin trafficking and jailed in a South American prison. He daringly escaped just so that he could return to you, and you are supposed to respond to his presence passionately, even – dare I say it? – lustily!”
“Yes,” Cynthia, blasé, agreed. “I know that…”
The director could contain himself no longer. “Well? Did you think that kiss was passionate? I’ve seen more sexual tension generated in the House of Representatives! What the hell were you thinking?”
Cynthia stared at him coldly. “You know…” she sweetly stated.
The director stared at Cynthia for a moment. He realized that his rage would not change the situation, because, it occurred to him, he did know what Cynthia’s problem was. She had, in fact, made it clear to him on several different occasions. Abruptly, the director turned away from Cynthia, saying: “Jeff, I want to talk to you.”
The two men found a secluded area behind the set. Jeff, worried: “Hey, Chuck, what’s the matter?”
Director, apologetically: “Cynthia won’t follow the script and kiss you with passion unless you can prove to her satisfaction that you won’t give her AIDS.”
Jeff, stunned: “What?”
Director, embarrassed: “She’s afraid of getting AIDS, Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. You have heard of it…?”
Jeff, bewildered: Sure, but, that’s insane. We’ve done dozens of intimate love scenes together over the years. Why is she worried now?”
Director, calmly: “Because the papers are full of it now. Look, all you have to do is pass a doctor’s exam and tell her that you’re not gay…umm, you’re not gay, are you, Jeff?”
Jeff, angry: “That’s none of your business! Or, hers! If I am, you can’t fire me – that’s discrimination!”
Director, shrugging: “We don’t have to fire you, Jeff. We could have your character heroically return to South America to fight to clear your name. Of course, there’s no guarantee that you would return…”
Jeff, amazed: “I can’t believe I’m hearing this! You can’t get AIDS from kissing, no matter how passionately. You know that this job means everything to me, but I can’t let you violate my rights because of the hysteria of some nutjob actress.”
Director, harshly: “Look, Jeff, I don’t like this any more than you do. But, doctors haven’t conclusively proven that AIDS cannot be transmitted by kissing, and the girl does have the right to protect herself. Please, submit to the tests so we can get back to filming.”
Jeff, quietly: “How can you let her get away with this?”
Director, resigned: “She’s the star.”
Later, the director told Cynthia that Jeff had agreed to the medical tests. “Now,” he said, “will you play the scene as written?”
Cynthia played with a stray lock of her hair. “Well, that’s a good start,” she said, “but how I know he isn’t gay? If he’s gay, he could get AIDS in the future…”
The director was reaching the end of his patience. “You’ll just have to accept the doctor’s report,” he flatly stated.
“Oh,” Cynthia coyly insisted, “couldn’t you get an affidavit from his girlfriend? Maybe…maybe have her on the set?”
“Certainly not!” the director shouted. “The man has a right to his privacy! Cynthia sat on the couch opposite the director, unmoved. “My god, Cynthia, will that satisfy you?”
Cynthia looked down at the floor. “Well…”
“Never mind,” the director hastily said, wiping his damp forehead with a page from the script (fuschia). “I’ll do what I can. But, don’t push me too far, Cynthia – you’re not indispensable, you know.”
Funny, Cynthia thought to herself, I was just thinking the same thing about you…