Asimov's - Fortune and Misfortune | Home | Contact Us | Subscription Rates | Current Issue | Links | Forum | Lisa Goldstein: Fortune and Misfortune First appeared in Asimovs Science Fiction, May 1997. Nominated for Best Short Story. This is my story, but first I have to tell you about Jessie. Jessie and I met at an audition. My agent had told me they were looking for someone to play a contemporary high school kid so I dressed the parttorn baggy jeans, white T-shirt, red flannel shirt tied around my waist. Id been waiting for about five minutes when Jessie walked in and gave her name to the receptionist. She wore one of those dress-for-success costumes that make women look like clownsskirt and jacket of bright primary colors (hers were red), big buttons down the front, hugely padded shoulders. She looked at me and then down at herself and laughed and grimaced at the same time. It was an oddly endearing expression, the gesture of someone who knows how to poke fun at herself. "Youre so clever," she said. She glanced at her outfit again. "Ive probably blown it already." She looked as if she wanted to talk further, but just then the receptionist called her name. I felt annoyedId been waiting longer than she had, though I knew that that had nothing to do with Hollywoods pecking order. She was closeted with the casting people for about ten minutes. When she came out she looked at me, held her palms up and shrugged elaborately. Her gesture said, clearly as words, I have no idea whether I made it or not. I didnt think about her until the next cattle call, when I saw her again. She was wearing the same clothesI wondered if it was the only decent outfit she owned. I was reading a magazine, but she sat down next to me anyway. "Did you get called back for that high school thing?" she asked. "No," I said. "Neither did I. Im Jessie." "Im Pam." The receptionist called my name then. I felt a rush of pleasure at being called firstthis woman wasnt all that far above me after all. "Listen," she said as I stood up. "If I get called next, wait for me and well go to lunch. I dont know too many people in this town." "Okay," I said. She did get called next. I waited, and when she came out she offered to drive us to a coffee shop in Westwood. I had already pegged her as someone very much like myself, just barely getting by on bit parts and commercials and waitressing jobs. So I was surprised to see her walk up to a white BMW and turn off the car alarm. She must have noticed my expression, because she laughed. "Oh, its not mine," she said. "I rent it for casting calls. You have to play the game, make them think youre worth it." Id heard this before, of course. In an image-conscious town like Hollywood every little bit helps. A fancy car isnt enough to land you a part, though, and I wondered if she had any acting ability to back it up. I got in the car and she drove us to the restaurant. When we were seated she looked directly at me and said, "So. Where would I have seen you?" I told her about my few commercials and the made-for-cable movie Id done. "I was Iras in Antony and Cleopatra at the San Diego Shakespeare festival," I said. "I was also the understudy for Rosalind in As You Like It, but the damned woman refused to get sick." She seemed a little puzzled at this. Wondering why I bothered with Shakespeare, maybe. "What about you?" I asked. "I had a bit part on a soap," she said. "It was a great gig, until they killed my character off." "Im sorry," I said, and she laughed. Los Angeles, they say, is where the best-looking boy and the prettiest girl from every high school in the country end up. You cant sneeze in this town without infecting a former high school beauty queen or football quarterback. Even so, I thought this woman astonishingly beautiful. She had deep sea-blue eyes, dark lashes, and a mass of dark hair. More than that, though, she had some subtle arrangement of bone structure that compelled you to look at her. She might just make it, I thought, and felt the envy that had dogged me ever since I had come to town. Next to her all my faults stood out in sharp reliefI was too short, too plain, my mouth too thin. I hate myself when I feel this petty, I struggle against it, but I dont seem to be able to help it. As penance I made an effort to like her. And really, it wasnt that difficult. She had probably been told that she was beautiful since before she could understand the words, but for some reason she didnt seem to believe it. She ridiculed herself, her ambitions, the idea that she could make it in Hollywood where so many others had failed. "My parents are sure Ill come crawling home within the year," she said. "You wouldnt believe the arguments I had before I left. Well, its the old story, isnt ityoung girl from the country goes to Hollywood." "Where are you from?" "A farming town in Wisconsin. Youve never heard of it. What about you?" "Chicago." "And how did your parents take it?" "Actually, theyve been pretty supportive," I said. "Especially my father. He did amateur theatricals in college. He said, I think youre good enough, but unfortunately what I think doesnt count for much. You have my blessing. And then he laughedhed never said anything so old-fashioned in his life." "Thats great." She was silent for a while, no doubt thinking about the differences between us. "Listen, Pam," she said. "Im going to an audition next week. Its another high school student. Ask your agent about it." "Sure," I said, surprised. I would never tell a rival about an audition. Jessie was someone to keep, a caring, genuine person in a town full of hypocrites. "Thanks." "See you there," she said. We saw each other a lot after that. We went to plays and movies and critiqued the performances, took the white BMW to cattle calls, made cheap dinners for each other and shopped at outlet clothing stores. We took tap-dancing lessons together, from a woman who looked about as old as Hollywood itself. Jessie told me about auditions coming up and I began to tell her if Id heard anything, though each time it was an effort for me. She got called back to her soapthey wanted her to do a dream sequence with the man whod played her lover. We rehearsed the scene together, with me taking the lovers part. It was the first time Id seen her act. She was good, there was no question of that, but there was something she lacked, that spark that true geniuses have. The envious part of me rejoicedthis woman, I thought, would not be a threat. But there was another side of me that regretted she wasnt better. I liked Jessie, I wanted to see her succeed. I felt almost protective toward her, like a mother toward a child. She was so innocentI didnt want her to get hurt. I was offered several parts at the Berkeley Shakespeare Festival and began to make arrangements to go up north. Jessie was pleased for me, but by this time she knew me well enough to speak her mind. "There arent going to be any casting directors up there, Pam," she said. "Those parts arent going to lead to anything. Its an honor, I know that, but it might be better to stay in town, see what you can get here." "I need to stretch myself, see what I can do," I said. And when she seemed unconvinced I added, "Itll look good on my résumé." We rehearsed together again. I had gotten the part of Emilia, Iagos wife, in Othello, and I had her take the other roles. As we rehearsed I was amazed to realize that she didnt have any idea what the play was about, that she stumbled speaking the old Elizabethan cadences. I had thought, naïvely I guess, that anyone who wanted to act had had at least some grounding in the classics. "So this Iago guy, he wants Othello to suspect his wife Desdemona," she said. "Hes really evil, isnt he? Do that bit again, the one that starts Villainy, villainy, villainy . . . " I did. "Hey, youre good," she said. There was nothing but pure pleasure in her voice. "Youre really good. I bet youll make it. Dont forget your old friends." She had an audition the day I was to leave, so she rented the BMW and drove me to the airport in the morning. We hugged at the curb in front of the terminal, careful not to wish each other good luck, smiling a little at our superstitions. I had fun in Berkeley. I liked some of the cast, disliked others, felt indifferent to the rest, the way it usually goes. We were busy first with rehearsals and then with the performances themselves, and I didnt have time to get lonely. Every week, though, Id call Jessie or shed call me and wed exchange news. Finally we settled into a routine and I had time to catch my breath. The man playing Iago told me about an audition in San Francisco, a company that was going to do Sophocles Oedipus. "Almost no money, of course," he said. "But all the prestige you can eat. Itll look good on your résumé." I called, got an appointment for an audition. Iago loaned me his Berkeley university library card, and I took the BART train over to campus to study up on my Sophocles. All the way there I could hear Jessie, as clearly as if she were sitting next to me. "Why are you doing this? What possible good can it do you? This isnt going to lead to anything, you know that." In my mind I told her, firmly, to shut up. I was a bit overawed by the graduate library stacks at Berkeley: Id never seen anything quite like them. Theres no space between the bookshelvesthey sit on tracks and have to be cranked apart by hand. Its the only way they can keep their huge amount of books in one space. I found the Oedipus trilogy fairly easily. While I was in the Greek drama section I decided to look around, see if there were any books that might help with an interpretation of the play. I took down a few that looked interesting, then reached for the crank. I stopped. There was a book on the shelf called Fortune and Misfortune, grimy with dust. I dont know why it caught my attentionit looked as if no one had opened it for years, maybe decades. I pulled it down and read at random. "And he who reads the following words will be plagued by ill fortune for all his life," it said. This is my story, as I said, but now Im going to talk about you. Are you comfortable? Probably you are, sitting and reading in your living room, leaning back in your recliner, a pleasant record in the CD player, iced tea or coffee or beer or wine beside you. Or maybe youre sitting in your family van, waiting to pick up your child from school or ballet practice or the orthodontist. The sun is shining, birds are singing. One of the books I picked up in the library was Aristotles Poetics. Aristotle says that when we watch a tragedy we feel pity and terror as the protagonist falls, and that when the play is over we feel cleansed, pure, a catharsis. But what about the guy on stage? What about Oedipus, standing there with the gore running down his cheeks after hes plunged Jocastas brooches into his eyes? Aristotle goes home, whistling, feeling better, feeling glad the tragedy happened to some other poor schmuck, but how does Oedipus feel? What if the shepherd bringing the final message hadnt said, Oedipus, the reason all the crops are failing and everything is going to shit is because you killed your father and married your mother, you poor fool? What if instead he had looked out into the audience, pointed to, say, Aristotle, and said, "Youyoure the reason were in such a mess. You dont know it, but youve killed your father and married your mother, and now were all doomed." Would Aristotle have gone home whistling then? I dont think so. We feel better when we watch someone else suffer. But Oedipus, if there really was an Oedipus, and I think there must have been, he doesnt feel better at all. The first thing that happened was that I didnt get the part of the Messenger in Oedipus. Well, I thought, I dont get most of the roles I audition foryou could hardly call this ill fortune. The second thing was far worse. My mother called the hotel I was staying at and told me that my father had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Hed had stomach aches and nausea for months, but by the time hed finally gone to the doctor it was too late. They gave him a day or two at the most. I took the next flight out. He died before I could reach himI never even got the chance to say goodbye. My father, my funny, caring, supportive father, the man who gave me his blessing when I said I wanted to be an actress. I called the company in Berkeley, told them I was staying for the funeral. My mother wanted a closed casket. Because of this, and because Id never seen him ill, I couldnt really bring myself to believe he was dead. I had dreams where Id talk to him, laugh at one of his silly jokes, and then suddenly realize that he wasnt supposed to be there. "But youre dead," Id say, horrified. Sometimes hed disappear at that moment, sometimes hed put his finger to his lips, as if to tell me that these were things that shouldnt be spoken of. Once he told me that he wasnt really dead, hed just been away on a secret mission somewhere. And every time when Id wake up my cheeks would be wet with tears. I hadnt known you could cry in your sleep. The third thing that happenedwell, it wasnt as bad, I guess. Certainly no one died, I didnt lose anyone I loved. I got back to Los Angeles to find out that Jessie had auditioned for a part in a major motion picture, and that the director wanted to see her again. We rehearsed together. I took the part of the boyfriend, which Jessie told me would be played by Harrison Ford. I barely remember what the movie was about, to tell you the truth. I was numb with grief, still coming to terms with all the holes in my life left by my fathers death. And I was depressed over my career, the way it seemed that everyone was getting ahead but me. Jessie tried to be supportive, but she was too excited about the direction her own career had taken. I couldnt blame her, really. The morning of her audition she rented the white BMW and left for the studio. I didnt hear from her until she called at five oclock that evening. "I got the part!" she said, a little breathless. "They all loved me, said I was perfect. I did those scenes we practiced with Harrisonwhat a sweetie he is!" "Thats nice," I said. "Listen, Ive got to goIve got some reading to do." "Sure," she said. She sounded a little puzzled. Did she really not understand my jealousy? Was she really that naïve? So I got to watch as Jessie became the next hot actressthis years blonde, she joked, brushing back her masses of dark hair. Her conversation became thick with the names of famous actors, directors, producers. She rented a condo in Malibu. I thought for sure she would buy that damned BMW she was so proud of but she went one better and showed up at my apartment complex in a silver Jaguar. "I couldnt resist," she said. "Do you like it? You know how the British pronounce Jaguar? They say Jay-gu-ar," and she told me which famous British actor had taught her that. "It is not enough to succeed," someone in Hollywood had once said, I think Gore Vidal. "Others must fail." I tried to feel happy over Jessies success, I really did, but I was sunk so deep in misery I couldnt do it. It all started with that damn book, I thought. Its all because I took that book down and opened it. "And he who reads the following words will be plagued by ill fortune for all his life," it had said. "Trogro. Trogrogrether. Ord, mord, drord. Coho, trogrogrether." You look up a moment. The birds have stopped singing, a cloud has moved in front of the sun. You thought you were reading a story about someone struggling with death, with bad luck, with her own inner demonsHamlets outrageous fortune. You certainly had no idea you would become involved this way. Its too late, thoughyouve read the words, just as I have. No, you think. Shes imagined the whole thing. Sure, a lot of bad things have happened to her, but its probably all just coincidence. A bunch of words in an old bookhow could that possibly affect me? It can, though, take my word for it. It happened to me. I know my life went downhill just as soon as I read those words. You thought you were reading about someone going through a hard time. One of two things would happeneither things would get better for her, or they wouldnt. You were prepared to follow the story from the beginning through the middle to the end, and then you were going to put it down and get on with your life. You were prepared to feel better after it was all overif it ended happily youd feel good, of course, but if it didnt youd still experience the catharsis Aristotle talked about. You were going to feel good watching me suffer. And now youre the one whos going to suffer. What do you think of that? I stopped going out. I skipped auditions. I sat on my floor and stared at my carpet, which was a truly hideous shade of brown. I spent a lot of time wondering why anyone would make a carpet that color. And when I wasnt worrying about my carpet I thought about Jessie. I couldnt turn on the television without seeing her. There were ads for her movie, there was Jessie herself being featured on some entertainment show or talking to Jay Leno about what a sweetie Harrison was. And when her movie came out it got worse. I didnt go see it, of coursethere was my carpet to think ofbut just about all the critics liked it. The skinny guy on that Sunday evening movie review program practically fell in love with her, though the fat guy didnt go that far. No one noticed that she wasnt a very good actress, that she was missing something. I wondered if, in addition to all my other problems, I was going crazy. Whenever I went to the supermarket, there was her picture waiting for me, on the cover of People or some tabloid. One month she was even featured in a house and garden magazine, with pictures of the interior of her Malibu condo. I couldnt help myselfI paged through the article while standing in the check-out line. Shed told the reporter that she wanted to create a space filled with light. I doubted itshe had terrible taste, could barely even dress herself. Probably that was something her interior decorator had said. Id been invited to that condo, not once but dozens of times. She urged me to come along with her to parties, told me about the directors and producers who would be there. She offered to take me to dinner. I made excuses, stopped returning her calls. All I needed, I thought, was to owe Jessie my career. No, Ill be honest hereI just didnt want to see her. I thought a lot about envy. In college I had been in a production of Marlowes Dr. Faustus, in the scene with the seven deadly sins. Id played Envy: "I am Envy, begotten of a chimney-sweeper and an oyster-wife . . . I am lean with seeing others eat. Oh, that there would come a famine over all the world, that all might die, and I live alone, then thou shouldst see how fat Id be!" If I tried I could remember the six other sinspride, anger, gluttony, sloth, lechery, and greed. Envy was definitely my sin, though. I thought I would have taken almost any of the others: pride, lechery, even gluttony. Sloth would be good. Here I was, I thought bitterly, envying other people their sins. The phone rang. I worried that it was Jessie, full of more cheerful good news, but for some reason I answered it. It turned out to be Ellen, a friend of mine from college, and I relaxed. "Hey, isnt that woman in the movie Jessie Whats-her-name?" Ellen asked after wed caught up on news. "I met her once at your house, didnt I?" "Yeah," I said. "Well, give her my congratulations. It must be exciting for her." "Yeah," I said again. There was silencea puzzled silence, I thoughtat the other end of the line. "I guess this proves beyond a doubt that Hollywood values looks over talent," I said finally. Ellen laughed. "I thought she was a friend of yours," she said. "I guess not." "I guess not," I said. I felt briefly better, and then a whole lot worse. What was I saying? Jessie was a friend, wasnt she? Didnt she deserve better from me? What was wrong with me? Envy. Envy was wrong with me. I realized when I hung up that I couldnt get rid of it, that it was part of me, the way the other sins were part of other people. Thats why people in the Middle Ages had named them, why the terms had stayed around for so long. No one was perfect. I would have to come to terms with my sin, domesticate it. I would have to make it mine. It felt like hard-won wisdom. I would call Jessie, I thought, meet her somewhere for lunch. Id even congratulate hercongratulations were long overdue. I reached toward the phone I had just hung up. I stopped. This wasnt taming my envy. This was covering it up, sweeping it under the rug, pretending it didnt exist. I knew what I had to do. I opened my phone book and looked up Jessies new number. I got her secretary. I should have expected that. The secretary had me wait while she looked through a list of approved callers. I was on the list, she told me, in a voice that suggested Id just won a car. I felt absurdly grateful. She put me on hold and then Jessie came on. "Hi, how are you doing?" she said. "Its been far too long." She sounded cheerful, happy to hear from me. "Not too good," I said. I told her the whole story, the book in the library, the calamities that had happened soon after, the terrible envy I had felt over her success. I very nearly recited the words from the book to her, but something stopped me. That wouldnt be coming to terms with envythat would be giving it free rein. "You ninny," she said when I finished. My heart sank. She hadnt understood. She had never been bothered by envyshe couldnt know how devastating it could be. Any minute now she would say, "Why on earth should you envy me?" or something equally inane. Instead she said, "What about the book?" "What?" I said stupidly. I couldnt imagine what she might be talking about. "The book in the library. You said it was called Fortune and Misfortune. If it has a phrase that brings bad luck, it probably has one for good luck as well." I stood still for long seconds, dumbfounded. "Oh my God," I said finally. "Listen, Ive got to go." "Tell me what happens," she said. "And good luck!" I called a cab to take me to the Los Angeles airport. I got a stand-by flight to Oakland, and took BART from Oakland to the Berkeley campus. I didnt have time to call Iago, the guy with the library card, so I bought my own. I cranked apart the shelves in the Greek drama section. The book wasnt there. It had probably been misfiled, I thought. It certainly wasnt about Greek drama. I ran out of the stacks and waited to use a computer terminal. Nothing with that title was listed in either GLADIS or MELVYL, the two university catalogues. I went back to the stacks, looked on the shelf above and the one below. Nothing. Im going to stay here until I find it, I thought. I turned the crank to get to the next shelf, then the one after that. Fortune and Misfortune, I thought. A black book, covered with dust. I looked at books until my eyes blurred, turned the crank until my muscles ached. I waited impatiently while someone perused a shelf I had already looked at, eager and anxious to turn the crank and move on. I was still carrying my overnight bag, hastily packed with a change of clothes, and I set it down to concentrate on my task. A black book, covered with dust. After a few hours the lights, already dim, darkened further like the signal to return to a play after intermission. The library was closing. I left the stacks, asked one of the librarians if he could recommend a cheap place to stay. I returned the next day, without the overnight bag. And the day after that, and the one after that. I had packed only one change of clothes, and I needed a laundromat very badly. But I couldnt take the time. Finally, on the fifth day, I found it. I couldnt believe it at firstI had to read the title at least three or four times to make sure. But this was definitely the book. The dust was spotted with fingerprints, my own and those of whoever had misshelved it. My hands were trembling. I opened the book and read the headings at the top of the pages. Phrases for health, love, money, beauty, knowledge. All these things would have interested me once but I rifled past them, looking for the section I wanted, hoping it would be there. It was. "And the following words will bring good fortune forever, and are proof against all words of ill fortune," I read. "Tay, tay, tray. Tiralanta, tiralall. All, call, lall. Tiralanta, tiralall." So. Those are the wordsthe bad luck you had begun to fear will not strike, and maybe even something truly wonderful is about to happen to you. Maybe the phone is ringing right now, maybe its good news. I wont tell you what happened to me after I read these wordsits outside the scope of this story, and anyway I think Ive already done enough for you. I will say that I was sick and bitter for a long time but that now Im better, though Ill never be entirely free of these awful feelings. And that the change in my fortune did not start when I read the book the second time, but when Jessie reached out her hand to me and started to pull me toward health. Its because of her friendship, and my fathers love, that I can pass along these words to you. Its still difficult for me, but I give youI give you allmy blessing. Read these Nebula-nominated stories From Asimov's Echea, by Kristine Kathryn Rusch Fortune and Misfortune, by Lisa Goldstein Izzy and the Father of Terror, by Eliot Fintushel Lethe, by Walter Jon Williams Standing Room Only, by Karen Joy Fowler Winter Fire, by Geoffrey A. Landis From Analog Aurora in Four Voices, by Catherine Asaro Subscriptions If you enjoyed this sample and want to read more, Asimov's Science Fiction offers you another way to subscribe to our print magazine. We have a secure server which will allow you to order a subscription online. There, you can order a subscription by providing us with your name, address and credit card information. Subscribe Now Copyright "Fortune and Misfortune" by Lisa Goldstein, copyright © 1997 by Lisa Goldstein, used by permission of the author To contact us about editorial matters , send an email to Asimov's SF. Questions regarding subscriptions should be sent to our subscription address. If you find any Web site errors, typos or other stuff worth mentioning, please send it to webmaster@asimovs.com. Copyright © 1998, 1999 Asimov's SF All Rights Reserved Worldwide