direction. “Do you mind waiting on the patio? If it’s too cold—”
“It’s fine.”
The air was bracing, invigorating. I didn’t mind the cold. What I minded was the interruption, the timing. I was edging up on Red Shot , on Claire Gregory. I’d moistened and fertilized, prepared the ground, and now the PA had yanked it out from under me. With half the patio in shadow, half in sunlight. I walked blindly toward the far end, toward the sunlight and the sea, and leaned far over the wooden railing. The wind ruffled my hair. Did Malcolm take this incredible blue panorama for granted?
Eight minutes later, he slid the patio door open. “Sorry about that. You must be frozen.”
I pointed. “Are those seals basking on the rocks?”
“Dammit, I thought they’d gone.”
“You don’t like them?”
“When I was a kid, my father shot one with a BB gun.” He motioned me indoors. “Three seals showed up during run-throughs for Macbeth . We called them the three witches, and they kept mum during rehearsals, but opening night, they let loose. No Macbeth wants to compete with seals barking. I’ll never be able to do Macbeth because of those damned seals. Whenever I hear ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow—’”
“Did the audience laugh?”
“The audience? Christ, the actors laughed. They roared. You had to hear it: ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow’ and eeerk, eeerk, eeerk . That night, Dad got drunk and winged one of them. Got in heaps of trouble with Fish and Wildlife.” He settled back into his chair and pulled a serious face. “Where were we?”
“You were telling me how you met Claire when she was doing Set Piece .”
“No, I wasn’t.”
I waited, but he didn’t add another syllable.
“People say you wrote the part of Audrey in Red Shot specifically for her.” Silence worked beautifully for you, Teddy. Why wasn’t it working for me? “That’s a wonderful likeness of her. Who painted it?”
“I’m not going to talk about Claire.”
“Why not?”
“That’s a nice trick, but no. Look, I once read an autobiography of George Lucas. Good book. And it never said a word about his wife, other than they got a divorce. Just about his films.”
“Was it a bestseller?”
“Claire is off-limits. Teddy agreed.”
“No, he didn’t. Why did you and Claire break up?” I tried the direct assault out of sheer desperation. Given the long interruption for the phone call, I didn’t have time for subtle flanking maneuvers.
God knows, there were enough answers out there. According to People magazine, Claire caught Garrett with the nanny. The National Enquirer painted Claire as the unfaithful one, screwing not only her yoga instructor but a variety of costars. Every gossip columnist in America and a few in England and Australia had written the supposed inside scoop. Malcolm had stayed silent then and he stayed silent now. The stillness grew.
“Sometimes you do things, it’s like madness, a rage that blinds you. Doesn’t everyone wish they could go back, do another take, rewrite a chapter of their life? That’s what I love about live theater, the constant replay, the repetition, the perfectibility, the possibility of perfection, not that it’s ever perfect. Did you know there are four different scripts for Hamlet —four completely different scripts? Two of them are two thousand lines or so, and the other two clock in at four thousand.”
“You’re changing the subject,” I said.
“I’m not going to answer your question. I know you had to ask, I know Teddy was planning to ask, but I won’t answer except to say this: I will never say anything against the mother of my child.”
“I understand Jenna’s an actress.” He hadn’t said he wouldn’t speak about the child.
“‘The line is extended.’”
“The line?”
“My father used to say that, whenever I did the right thing onstage, came in promptly on a cue, spoke a line properly. It was his special benediction. He kept count of all
“It’s fine.”
The air was bracing, invigorating. I didn’t mind the cold. What I minded was the interruption, the timing. I was edging up on Red Shot , on Claire Gregory. I’d moistened and fertilized, prepared the ground, and now the PA had yanked it out from under me. With half the patio in shadow, half in sunlight. I walked blindly toward the far end, toward the sunlight and the sea, and leaned far over the wooden railing. The wind ruffled my hair. Did Malcolm take this incredible blue panorama for granted?
Eight minutes later, he slid the patio door open. “Sorry about that. You must be frozen.”
I pointed. “Are those seals basking on the rocks?”
“Dammit, I thought they’d gone.”
“You don’t like them?”
“When I was a kid, my father shot one with a BB gun.” He motioned me indoors. “Three seals showed up during run-throughs for Macbeth . We called them the three witches, and they kept mum during rehearsals, but opening night, they let loose. No Macbeth wants to compete with seals barking. I’ll never be able to do Macbeth because of those damned seals. Whenever I hear ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow—’”
“Did the audience laugh?”
“The audience? Christ, the actors laughed. They roared. You had to hear it: ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow’ and eeerk, eeerk, eeerk . That night, Dad got drunk and winged one of them. Got in heaps of trouble with Fish and Wildlife.” He settled back into his chair and pulled a serious face. “Where were we?”
“You were telling me how you met Claire when she was doing Set Piece .”
“No, I wasn’t.”
I waited, but he didn’t add another syllable.
“People say you wrote the part of Audrey in Red Shot specifically for her.” Silence worked beautifully for you, Teddy. Why wasn’t it working for me? “That’s a wonderful likeness of her. Who painted it?”
“I’m not going to talk about Claire.”
“Why not?”
“That’s a nice trick, but no. Look, I once read an autobiography of George Lucas. Good book. And it never said a word about his wife, other than they got a divorce. Just about his films.”
“Was it a bestseller?”
“Claire is off-limits. Teddy agreed.”
“No, he didn’t. Why did you and Claire break up?” I tried the direct assault out of sheer desperation. Given the long interruption for the phone call, I didn’t have time for subtle flanking maneuvers.
God knows, there were enough answers out there. According to People magazine, Claire caught Garrett with the nanny. The National Enquirer painted Claire as the unfaithful one, screwing not only her yoga instructor but a variety of costars. Every gossip columnist in America and a few in England and Australia had written the supposed inside scoop. Malcolm had stayed silent then and he stayed silent now. The stillness grew.
“Sometimes you do things, it’s like madness, a rage that blinds you. Doesn’t everyone wish they could go back, do another take, rewrite a chapter of their life? That’s what I love about live theater, the constant replay, the repetition, the perfectibility, the possibility of perfection, not that it’s ever perfect. Did you know there are four different scripts for Hamlet —four completely different scripts? Two of them are two thousand lines or so, and the other two clock in at four thousand.”
“You’re changing the subject,” I said.
“I’m not going to answer your question. I know you had to ask, I know Teddy was planning to ask, but I won’t answer except to say this: I will never say anything against the mother of my child.”
“I understand Jenna’s an actress.” He hadn’t said he wouldn’t speak about the child.
“‘The line is extended.’”
“The line?”
“My father used to say that, whenever I did the right thing onstage, came in promptly on a cue, spoke a line properly. It was his special benediction. He kept count of all
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