It's All In the Playing by Shirley Maclaine

was really warming to this guy.
    “Then why are you here?” I asked.
    “Because my dentist appointment got canceled,” he answered.
    Oh, boy, I thought, this is going to be more than amusing.
    “I’m fat and bulky,” he went on. “You don’t want me.”
    I thought I’d join the game. “Why don’t you have your dentist sew up your mouth then?” I asked.
    John flashed that childlike shock of one playmate recognizing another playmate sooner than either expected. Colin wasn’t sure what was going on.
    “John”—Colin decided to participate—“did you come here because you’re interested in doing this?”
    John chuckled again.
    “I mean,” said Colin, “do you know what this is about? Do you know anything about David’s character? Has your agent read the script?”
    “I fired my agent,” said John.
    “Oh,” said Colin. “How about your manager?”
    John leaned back on the couch and looked out the window. “If I said there was a flying saucer on the windowsill you wouldn’t bother turning around, but if I said there’s this funny disc-shaped craft with Donald Duck ears, you’d be up and out of your chair in a flash, right?”
    “Not necessarily,” I replied.
    Colin and I looked at each other. What did he mean? Was our script not funny enough? Had he read it?
    John did his secret chuckle again. Colin took the bull by the horns.
    “Okay,” he said. “Let’s read. Maybe you’ll get the sense out of it as you go.”
    John shrugged. “Okay, man,” he said. “But my teeth hurt.”
    “I thought your dentist appointment was canceled,” I said.
    “No,” said John. “My girlfriend can’t cook. She makes carrot salad for my mother so my family will like her.”
    Oh, brother, I thought. This is something Woody Allen or maybe Albert Brooks would understand. Or maybe the guy was just scared in an interesting way…. It did take a certain kind of left-field intelligence which I wasn’t sure I possessed to understand him, and Colinapparently didn’t even want to—but, as I reminded him later, he wasn’t the director.
    John picked up the script and lifted it slowly to his shoulder as though it were a ten-ton boulder. Then he chuckled and opened it to the first page.
    “Some directors say I chuckle like this when I’m insecure.”
    Yes, I really liked his off-the-wall honesty. Even Colin was disarmed for a second. We turned to John’s first scene and he began reading and acting his part. I felt a little premonitory shiver run down my back. I knew some actors were really good at cold readings, but the good ones usually weren’t. What we were hearing was an actor reading with in-depth understanding and a comprehension of metaphysics and spiritual principles. Had he been kidding us? I said nothing, just kept on going although it was hard for me to concentrate on my own part because he was so unexpectedly brilliant. Finally I couldn’t stand it. I stopped the reading and looked at him. I punched him in the arm. He looked at me.
    “You’re a friggin’ liar, John.”
    “I am?” he said.
    “Yes. You’ve studied the script backward, haven’t you? How can you be this good without knowing it beforehand?”
    “Oh”—he stopped me—“I’ll never be this good again. Don’t worry. I’m a fake. You know, I run between the raindrops.”
    “But did you read it?”
    “No,” he said, “because I would have told you the truth if I didn’t like it and I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”
    I looked deep into his eyes. He chuckled again.
    Just then the doorbell rang. Because John had been late, my appointments were overlapping. It didn’t faze him in the least.
    “John,” I said, “this is Bella Abzug. She is herebecause she wants to read for her own part. Can I put you in the den to finish reading this thing?”
    John shrugged. He stood up and shifted his weight back and forth and put his hands in his pockets and ran his tongue over his lips. Then he pulled his fingers through his