The Exit Coach

by Megan Staffel

  The flutes were a delicate rose color. They had bought them on their last trip, and the afternoon sun spilling through the windows backlit their delicate hues. As the song played, they held up their glasses, and when it was over, Harvey made up a toast. “May you continue to create memorable works. May you shine on and on, lighting up our world, expressing our innermost feelings in movement.” He wiped his watery eyes and as they clinked their glasses Ruben said, “To my father and mother with all my love and all my thanks for giving me what I needed and putting up with a lot of shit.”

  “A lot of shit,” Harvey echoed. They clinked to that and took turns draining Alice’s glass.

  “I’m going to ask Ava and Brekka, but I’ve decided not to use Ernie. He’s too big an ego, too hard to work with.”

  “Oh shit,” Harvey said. “They’re together, you know. In love. Did you know that?”

  Ruben winced. “Jesus, how could she?”

  “Never doubt the stupidity of youth or sex.”

  “Or the power of smooth talking.”

  “Nevertheless, if I were you, I’d get her to sign on as soon as possible.”

  “Right, sealed, signed, delivered. I’ll talk to her soon.”

  “If I were you I wouldn’t wait.”

  “But Dad, you’re not me.”

  Ruben’s face assumed the old bluntness. He thrust his chin forward just as he used to; his fists were clenched, his shoulders strained. But it wasn’t an eleven year old boy who spoke, it was a man with a deep voice. “That’s the problem; that’s always been the problem, and I’m sick to death of trying to be as good, as organized, as perceptive a person as you.” And then he grinned, everything relaxing, and he laughed out loud. “I got you! I got you! I could see you cringe! Oh God, I trained you well. But you trained me too. And I’ll grab her soon, but there’s a millon details.” He corked the bottle and made leaving preparations that Harvey pretended not to mind. “Jack’s waiting and he doesn’t know yet, so I’m going to take this with me and run.”’

  Harvey wheeled after. “Hey, bring Jack by sometime. I haven’t seen him in ages.”

  His hand was on the door, but he turned back to salute his father, his face electrified. Harvey knew exactly how it felt when there was a person at home you absolutely couldn’t wait to see. He listened to his boy’s footsteps down the hall and turned to face the empty rooms.

  Then he went to the toilet, and though it was early and dinner was untouched, he lay down on his bed. Sleep was the only thing he wanted.

  16.

  “So where is Rochester?”

  She could answer because she’d looked at a map. “Top of the state, towards the west, and there’s a train to New York. Twice a day.”

  “What is it? Some dance thing?” Cleopatra held the remote in front of the TV and the terrible screams stopped so abruptly the quiet was miraculous. She swung around in the lounger, set the box of crackers on the coffee table, and took a sip of rosé. “I’m not ready for this. It’s too sudden and all right, I understood about the job and the performance because you have to grow up, you have to do something. But there’s no going to Rochester. That’s where I put my foot down. And why? Why would you go somewhere like that?”

  So she explained all over again about Ernie’s uncle and the job at the Aurora candle factory and her job with the niece who did real estate.

  “Doing what?”

  “Photographing furniture arrangements in empty houses that are for sale. It’s called staging.”

  “Since when do you know how to photograph?”

  “Since never. But you don’t have to know. You learn it.”

  “Sounds cockeyed to me. And especially since she’s never met you and I’ve never met this boy Ernest. And to tell you the truth, Ernest is one of those names I’d never trust. Like Loyal. You meet a guy named Loyal and you know he’s a two-timing son of a bitch. It’s too much. It’s too much to put me through.”

  “You could meet him.”

  Cleo poured more rosé, took a cracker and dunked it in. “I don’t want to meet anyone named Ernest. Names say a lot and you got to listen to what they’re telling you.”

  “He’s a dancer, Mom, he’s really good. He taught me everything.”

  “Exactly, see, it’s just as I thought. No one teaches another person anything at all. You get it through your genes. I was a performer and you are a performer. Like mother, like daughter, you know what I’m saying. There’s a good movie. How ‘bout you stay home and we watch it together?”

  “I have to go. I have to meet Ernie.”

  Cleo was about to point the remote, but she put it down before clicking. “Listen Ava, I don’t want to stick my nose into things that are none of my business, but you and this Ernest. You taking precautions? We never had those talks you’re supposed to have. I just figured, I don’t know…”

  “It’s under control. And I have to go.”

  All of a sudden Cleo collapsed, hand to her bosom, her face wretched. Ava grabbed for her, but no, she was laughing. Full-out. She calmed down enough to say, “That’s not any kind of an answer. And if you think it is, then I gave birth to an idiot. Life is never under control. Now. . . wait a minute.” She was chuckling now. “I’ll tell you what you’re doing. I’ll tell you. Just a minute. Oh sweet Jesus!” There were more choking sounds and then she said straight out: “You’re leaving me! I’m an old couch and you’re putting me out on the curb! You’re leaving me, child: that’s what’s happening here. First the name change, then the job, then this dance thing and I don’t know the first thing about any of it. And then, as if that isn’t enough, Ernest, but who is Ernest? I just hope you’re using precautions and I just hope he’s a nice boy. Though I’m warning you he might not be, so go on, get it over with, I want to get back to my movie.”

  That night, on stage, right in the middle of a series of bends and splits, Dawn looked out and saw a familiar face in the first row and simply went on with the same energy and focus because it didn’t matter. She was not Ava. At intermission, after she’ d changed into Dawna, she wasn’t even tempted to think about it. But after the performance, when she heard a familiar voice in the green room, she paid attention.

  “Of course I’m her mother. Keep looking. Cause see now, you’re looking and you’re knowing that I’m the one bequeathed all that talent. The originator. That’s who I am. I used to dance the burlesque. Now I drive. It happens. MTA Bus 79. What happens is the body gets old, it has to, and opportunity disappears.”

  She must have cornered one of the hippies. Quickly, Ava finished taking off her makeup and opened the door to the room where everyone else was congratulated by visitors who came to see them perform, and Ava, until now, had never met anyone but strangers.

  “There she is!” Cleo boomed, walking forward to take Ava into her arms. “Back then, I was this small, this limber.”

  Who was she talking to?

  It was Brekka who held out her hand now saying, “Mrs. Prett, I’m so pleased to meet you. And as I’m sure you know, you have a wonderfully talented daughter. She’s been a pleasure to work with and a real surprise.”

  “That’s good,” Cleo murmured. “Real good. This like a professional situation. An art piece. This is not what I did. So I’m glad for her. Glad for her to be working with a smart and talented lady like yourself.”

  “Let me introduce you to Ruben,” Ava offered, steering her mother away so Brekka could escape. She moved her over to the crowd courting the choreographer.

  “Very upscale,” Cleo murmured. She winked. “No throw-up, no beer smell. Very upscale. No cigarettes. Not for the lechers. This for the educated. But it’s not one of those things like you hear about, called happenings. I got it. It’s very organized, very nice.”

  “I tried to tell you.”

  “You did, you did. And I had to see it to believe you. And it was good. Even though they gave me the brush-off at the office. But I says, over and over, I’m her mom, go ahead, bring her out and
ask her, ‘cause I want the front row and I want it for free.” When Ruben turned to them, she put her hand out and pumped Ruben’s up and down. “That’s a real fine show, real fine. I enjoyed it.”

  Ava saw Ruben’s shock as he took in the pink, the big breathing pink intensity.

  “Yes, good to meet you, and you are?”

  Quickly: “This is my mother,” as Cleo boomed, “My name’s Cleopatra! Mind if I give you a hug? You’re such a fine gentleman and a good human being to treat Ava the way you do and give her this chance to make it big.”

  “No, Mrs. Prett, I should be thanking you because I’m lucky to have the chance to work with her.”

  “Excuse me. No missus in this situation. Miss all the way.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I was a dancer once myself. Hard to believe, but that’s where she got it. Here.” She put a hand to her bosom as though she were about to say the Pledge of Allegiance. “It all comes from here. Like mother, like daughter, you know.”

  “I’m so pleased. Ava has been such a pleasure . . .” Ruben held out a hand to initiate their parting as new people came in line behind them.

  “The pleasure’s all mine to make this acquaintance, and Mr. Ruben, if you ever need a large woman. . . .”

  He colored and she said, “What I’m talking about is your performance. Can I give you my number? Cause Ava, she’s moving to Rochester.”

  But Ruben, an expert in managing crowds, had already moved to the next group of well-wishers.

  During her last week in New York, all of the ordinary comings and goings had a patina of regret. The subway speeding under the sidewalks: she had never appreciated the vastness of the underground network. But Rochester would have subways too. The vistas of long streets, the mixture of old and new buildings. But all cities had that. Even the sidewalks filled with people, but that, too, you would find in any city. The long dark hallway to the dressing room, the notices on the bulletin board, the smell of makeup, the nervousness before the show. She would miss Brekka. She wanted to thank her and say goodbye, but Ernie had made her promise not to tell anyone because they would get on his case about dragging her away. She corrected him: “You’re not dragging me. I’m going of my own choice.” She was choosing who to love, making the hard choices, going with the things she was scared of so that one day they could be like Alice and Harvey.

  But the curtain call of the last performance was the most difficult. Everyone was crying. And when the velvet finally came down and the house lights went up, she hugged them all. She didn’t want to let them go; she wanted to take them with her. All she had to do was look at Ruben and she would start to weep. She could tell Harvey hadn’t told him. That pleased her. He wasn’t gossiping behind her back, he was trusting her to tell Ruben in her own way. And she’ d do it soon. But from Rochester, a thank you letter.

  When they were with the troupe, they stayed apart. Ernie didn’t want anyone to know they were together. And no one did know, although Brekka of course suspected. There was a photographer in the lounge, arranging people in different poses and combinations for pictures. Ruben said he would send everyone copies. They turned their costumes in, and that too, was a powerful moment. But it was only a pair of heels, blue jeans, red shorts, empty containers.

  Ava found a suitcase at the top of Cleo’s closet. It was well-used, battered really, but everything she wanted fit into it. The sides bulged, threatening the zipper, but she got it closed. She pushed it under the turnstile at the subway and lugged it through Grand Central and once they were on the train, Ernie hoisted it into the luggage rack over their seat. She watched him with amazement, thinking to herself: this is the person I love. Other people came on, squeezed past with bundles and bags. Ernie, who had checked two enormous suitcases into baggage, worried they hadn’t made it on. He left to find a porter.

  She watched him brush past the people going in the opposite direction. When he had to stop for an obstruction, she read impatience in the set of his shoulders. A woman with too many bags was trying to situate her child. “Sorry,” she said, turning to him apologetically. He didn’t answer. What an asshole, he was thinking; she could read it from the way he stood.

  The doors closed, the train moved out of the station. She had a moment of worry, but the familiar vistas of her city were sliding past, and she needed to pay attention. And then, all was well because he came back, carrying snacks and beer. He was jovial. The smell of food sickened her, yet all she said was “no thank you” when he offered sips and bites. The Hudson, next to them, was flat and gray, unmoving. She knew it had secrets: deep currents and ancient fish swimming through the muck and trash at the bottom.

  When the train pulled into Rochester, it was an hour behind schedule. “It’s always late,” Ernie told her. Uncle David was in a bad mood. He shook hands with Ava, but then moved off to give his full attention to the luggage. On the drive to the place they were going to live, he and Ernie talked about someone in the family named Doug who had dropped out of college. A brother, cousin? She didn’t care. They went on one highway after another, the roads huge and smooth, all the cars following their headlights through the dark and featureless landscape. The big car turned at a sign for 2000 Mendon Road, Lilac Estates. She remembered it because she was thinking that one day, Mendon Road would be a place she’d understand and maybe even love. They purred past houses as large as ocean liners, their facades lit as though for a party. The driveway swooshed them into a garage and her door popped open. “Everyone’s waiting,” Uncle David said, “so don’t be long. Go ahead, the apartment isn’t locked.”

  They carried their suitcases up the outside stairway and walked into a thickly carpeted room. Ernie shut the door and promptly took her into his arms. “Far out,” he exclaimed, and then, under his breath, “far fucking out!” He kissed her, pulled her pants down, maneuvered himself inside. “Just a quickie,” he grinned.

  Only on television did a family occupy such an enormous space, but television must be accurate because there it was, and hand in hand, she and Ernie were entering. Dinner was waiting in a big, expensive-looking room with a sunken seating area around a fireplace. The table was piled with things to eat, but the relatives, all of them with hairdos, makeup, and aggressive perfumes, even the men, stood around the table holding drinks. The niece who was going to give Ava the job introduced herself with a handshake. She didn’t look healthy. Her skin was slicked with perspiration and the mound of hair framing her face was as solid and unmoving as a helmet.

  “Nice to meet you. Morrie said you took the train up. So I have to ask: where’s the car? That’s the one thing I’m concerned about, a reliable car. You know what I mean? I mean, I am doing you a favor. Everyone said, ‘Oh Debbie, do this favor. Ernie’s in love and the girl needs a job.’ So okay, I’m happy to accommodate. We’ll give it a try.” She shifted a plank of hair off her forehead and looked everywhere but at Ava. “And as I told him, the photography I can teach you, but it’s going to be go here in the morning, there in the afternoon, somewhere else the next day and back and forth to the office. The highways are easy, you’ll learn them quick. Do not worry about that. But it’s going to be all week long, starting in two days, tons of places. And there’s been lots of competition for this job, let me tell you. I turned away a qualified applicant just yesterday. I’ve turned away many qualified applicants so count yourself very, very lucky. You don’t know how lucky you are.” Her mouth hung open, her big teeth lined up like soldiers.

  “I don’t have a car, but I’m happy to take the subway.”

  She started to laugh, her eyes sweeping Ava’s face, trying to convince herself it was a joke. “Oh God, you’re kidding, right?”

  “Or the bus,” Ava added, just to show how flexible she was.

  “I hope to God you’re kidding. Dora! Dora, get this! Ava is happy to take the subway to the houses. For the shoots! Oh shit, she cracks me up. Or the bus! She’s happy to do that too. She’s happy to wait with the black people fo
r the bus that never comes. Oh God, I’m dying here, I’m dying. Ernie!” The soldiers were standing at attention. She turned her back to Ava and addressed Ernie who was standing at the table, hunched over a plate of food.

  “What? What?”

  “You didn’t tell me your girlfriend was a comedian.” Then she aimed her eyes at Ava. “Seriously, the one thing I said to him: She has to have a car, a reliable car.”

  “But I can’t drive.”

  “Oh God, now I’m pissed. Ernie didn’t tell you? There’s no subway in Rochester. There’s hardly any buses. And these houses. They’re not in the ghetto, sweetheart. These houses are million dollar estates and,” as though Ava spoke a different language, she enunciated clearly, “you-have-to-drive-to-them. Give me a break.” Throwing her hands up, she left Ava and went to the table. “Give me a fucking break. Ernie? Who is she? What planet does she live on?”

  That night, in the garage apartment, as he nuzzled her neck he said, “Earlier? It was just a prelude.” Now it was for real, their honeymoon. Or almost. Wasn’t it? He really wanted to ball.

  “I can’t,” she mumbled.

  “Oh come on, Debbie was kidding. Don’t be offended. It’ll work out. She’ll give you the job and the car thing will happen. It’s all good. And look at this fabulous place we have for free. It’s like a hotel,” he said reverently, body turned to admire the neutral walls, the anonymous furniture, inviting her to admire it too. “Trust me, this is a top-of-the-line mattress.” He pulled her down. “Feel how firm.”

  If she protested, she would start to cry and there would be no stopping of it, ever. So she held herself as still as a board and he got excited without any help from her and bucked and thrashed as he always did. When it was over and he had fallen asleep, she slipped off the expensive mattress and went to the bathroom to clean herself. Then she tiptoed into the living room. Her suitcase was still in the middle of the wall to wall carpeting, unpacked. On the phone in the kitchen she dialed information and when the operator came on, she asked for the number for the train. One was leaving for New York at 5:00 a.m. She got the number for a taxi. Cleopatra had given her two twenty-dollar bills; Harvey had given her two fifties. “Just in case you change your mind,” he said, closing them into her hand. Now she pulled them out of her pocket and felt how worn and smooth they were, how indestructible. It was two in the morning and though the cab wouldn’t come for another hour, she needed to leave.