arrived. “Right here.”
“Bullshit,” I said.
“Oh yes,” he said. “I went to Marshall. A mere five blocks away. I’m nostalgic already.” He pointed west. “King Junior. Franklin Avenue Elementary.”
“Hard to picture you as a child,” I said.
“I was a difficult child.” He posed, lifting his drink as if it was the skull in Hamlet . “I never lived up to my potential.”
“I did well,” I said, sipping my wine. “I was valedictorian. I played flute in the marching band.”
“And then you decided to act. At … Champaign-Urbana? Or was it Lawrence, Kansas?”
It was Lincoln, but I didn’t need to confirm a run of insight that was now getting eerie.
“And now you’re here to break into the big time. How’s the climb to fame going?”
“It seems they tore Schwab’s down awhile back, but nobody told me.”
“Naturally, you take class. Boyd Stocker?”
“Chris Valente.”
“Ballet at 3rd Street—”
“Tap.”
That made him smile. I smiled too. I knew it was stupid but I really liked tap, it reminded me of old Busby Berkeley movies.
“You’ve come close,” he said, “but so far, the star never broke her ankle.”
Asshole. “Actually, I had a feature.”
“Never released.”
How could he know these things? Well, of course, if the feature had been released, I wouldn’t be slinging pasta at Orzo. Not that I’d have any money, but I wouldn’t want people to see me working for a living.
“There was a problem with the funding.”
He drew his finger across the condensation on his glass. “These things happen. But you’ll catch on. You’ve got something, a certain sense of authority. People watch you. All you have to do is soften up a little. You’re all barbed wire.”
Chris Valente said the same thing. Show your vulnerability, Holly. It just made me want to slug him. I lost my vulnerability a long time ago. Along with my innocence. Or so I thought then. “Maybe I’ve got a corral to fence.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. You just want to layer, hold it in reserve, until it’s time to show it.” He looked down the bar to where the bartender, a blond boy with shaggy hair in a tight black shirt, stood laughing with an older man. “Miles, I’ll have another Jack Daniel’s, if I may.”
The bartender came down and took Richard’s glass, giving him a sweep of blond eyelash.
“So why don’t you act anymore?” I asked. Seeing if I could play the clairvoyant too.
He turned toward me, propped his head on his hand. He looked at me very directly, and I felt the full force of his personality in those eyes, that mocking mouth. “What is the attraction of acting? Seeing where our personalities line up with those of fictional characters? Infusing them with the stuff of life? But the day comes when one’s own personality is more interesting than those one is paid to animate.”
Miles handed him his new drink. Richard made me wait while he took a sip. Controlling the silences. God, he was good. What a shame he’d stopped acting.
“So what do you do now?” I said. “Unemployment?”
“Write. Coach. A number of things. Mostly I study the human condition.” He paused a beat. “I saw something in you tonight, Holly. Something I’ve been looking for.”
I smiled inwardly. He was too old for me and bald to boot, but he fascinated me, with his slightly gay gestures that contrasted with the bright brown wolfishness of his eyes, the flat wide mouth playing with its private joke. I itched to know that joke.
“Do you like animals, Holly?”
Just when I thought I knew what he was talking about. “Animals? You’re kidding.”
“I have a little problem,” he said, steepling his long fingers with hair on their backs. “Can I be frank for a moment?”
I had the feeling that he couldn’t be frank on his own deathbed.
“I found a dog. And I need to return it,” he said.
“So why don’t you?”
He moved his wide mouth around, pursing the lips, pushing
“Bullshit,” I said.
“Oh yes,” he said. “I went to Marshall. A mere five blocks away. I’m nostalgic already.” He pointed west. “King Junior. Franklin Avenue Elementary.”
“Hard to picture you as a child,” I said.
“I was a difficult child.” He posed, lifting his drink as if it was the skull in Hamlet . “I never lived up to my potential.”
“I did well,” I said, sipping my wine. “I was valedictorian. I played flute in the marching band.”
“And then you decided to act. At … Champaign-Urbana? Or was it Lawrence, Kansas?”
It was Lincoln, but I didn’t need to confirm a run of insight that was now getting eerie.
“And now you’re here to break into the big time. How’s the climb to fame going?”
“It seems they tore Schwab’s down awhile back, but nobody told me.”
“Naturally, you take class. Boyd Stocker?”
“Chris Valente.”
“Ballet at 3rd Street—”
“Tap.”
That made him smile. I smiled too. I knew it was stupid but I really liked tap, it reminded me of old Busby Berkeley movies.
“You’ve come close,” he said, “but so far, the star never broke her ankle.”
Asshole. “Actually, I had a feature.”
“Never released.”
How could he know these things? Well, of course, if the feature had been released, I wouldn’t be slinging pasta at Orzo. Not that I’d have any money, but I wouldn’t want people to see me working for a living.
“There was a problem with the funding.”
He drew his finger across the condensation on his glass. “These things happen. But you’ll catch on. You’ve got something, a certain sense of authority. People watch you. All you have to do is soften up a little. You’re all barbed wire.”
Chris Valente said the same thing. Show your vulnerability, Holly. It just made me want to slug him. I lost my vulnerability a long time ago. Along with my innocence. Or so I thought then. “Maybe I’ve got a corral to fence.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. You just want to layer, hold it in reserve, until it’s time to show it.” He looked down the bar to where the bartender, a blond boy with shaggy hair in a tight black shirt, stood laughing with an older man. “Miles, I’ll have another Jack Daniel’s, if I may.”
The bartender came down and took Richard’s glass, giving him a sweep of blond eyelash.
“So why don’t you act anymore?” I asked. Seeing if I could play the clairvoyant too.
He turned toward me, propped his head on his hand. He looked at me very directly, and I felt the full force of his personality in those eyes, that mocking mouth. “What is the attraction of acting? Seeing where our personalities line up with those of fictional characters? Infusing them with the stuff of life? But the day comes when one’s own personality is more interesting than those one is paid to animate.”
Miles handed him his new drink. Richard made me wait while he took a sip. Controlling the silences. God, he was good. What a shame he’d stopped acting.
“So what do you do now?” I said. “Unemployment?”
“Write. Coach. A number of things. Mostly I study the human condition.” He paused a beat. “I saw something in you tonight, Holly. Something I’ve been looking for.”
I smiled inwardly. He was too old for me and bald to boot, but he fascinated me, with his slightly gay gestures that contrasted with the bright brown wolfishness of his eyes, the flat wide mouth playing with its private joke. I itched to know that joke.
“Do you like animals, Holly?”
Just when I thought I knew what he was talking about. “Animals? You’re kidding.”
“I have a little problem,” he said, steepling his long fingers with hair on their backs. “Can I be frank for a moment?”
I had the feeling that he couldn’t be frank on his own deathbed.
“I found a dog. And I need to return it,” he said.
“So why don’t you?”
He moved his wide mouth around, pursing the lips, pushing
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