"Yes." Jessica filled their wineglasses and held hers up. "To the cast we'll find one of these days."
Hermione touched her glass to Jessica's. "Any day now. One box for Constance; you told me about that one. The other for Lucas Cameron.?"
"Yes. He's asked to see a copy oi Journeys End. Would you mind if I sent him one?"
"No, why would I ? It'll be published in a month or two, anyway; he'd be able to buy it anywhere."
They ate in silence for a moment. "Well, what is it?" Jessica asked. "Something's bothering you. Is it that we're starting so late on the casting?"
"Hell, no. We don't start anything until you feel ready. That doesn't bother me at all."
"Well, something does. Come on, Hermione, you'll tell me eventually, so why not get it over with?"
"Why not, indeed. Well, the fact is, I'm not finding investors. I've got one, Donny Torville, a sweet guy, loaded, who doesn't care a fig about the theater, but he likes me. I was hoping for two or three more, but they don't seem to be out there."
"Because they don't think I can direct it."
"Right. I don't like to be brutal about this, but we have to face it. They ask me why I think you can come back after so many years, «/2^ come back as a director, which you've never been. And if you really could do it, they say, why not do it in New York?"
274 ~ Judith Michael
"What do they call me?"
"It doesn't matter. You know what it is, Jessie? They're mad at you for coming back. They remember you when you were the most gorgeous creature and the most brilliant actress, and they're mad because they don't want to know that looks can fade and bodies can be damaged; they don't want to know that bad things happen, because then they'd have to face the fact that bad things could happen to them. They want you to go away and let them believe that beauty and perfection last. What a bunch of assholes, turning their back on life."
"What do they call me?"
"I told you, it doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"Jessie, it has nothing to do with—"
"What do they call me?"
"God damn it, you're more stubborn than I am. Well, if you really want to know . . . Washed up and a cripple."
Jessica nodded, waiting for the sharp pain to fade. And it did, very quickly. She had felt it before, so many times, but now everything was different. "Well," she said quietly, "we'll have to prove them wrong."
Hermione's eyebrows rose. "Is this Jessica Fontaine speaking? A transformation. Maybe it's because we're two days from Christmas. But I didn't think you felt Christmasy, since it's ninety degrees outside and as humid as a sauna."
Jessica smiled. "It definitely does not feel like Christmas. Do you know how odd it is to see Christmas decorations next to silk trees in bloom, all those summery pink flowers like hundreds of birds perched on the branches? I can't get used to it."
"So Christmas didn't do it. What did?"
"You. And Luke. Knowing you both believe in me. And being back. Every time I walk into that rehearsal room, I feel alive and whole, because I'm where I belong. And none of your whining investors is going to take that away from me."
"Well, hallelujah. You're wonderful, I love you, I have absolute, total confidence in you. In us. This play is going to make money. Therefore, I've decided to back it. I would have told you earlier, but I wanted to know how you felt first."
"No. Hermione, you can't do that. You know you should spread the risk around; you can't assume it all yourself."
"Don't forget Donny."
"You need at least two more people."
"They aren't out there. For your second play they will be, but not for this one. I'm okay with this, Jessie; I'm not worried."
"You should be. You've got an unknown playwright and a first-time director; that's hardly a sure thing."
"I'm okay with it."
"Well, then." Jessica went to the dining room table, strewn with papers and books, blocking charts, and scripts marked with colored pencils for each character, and rummaged until she found her checkbook. "How much did Donny put up.''"
"Now hold on. This isn't your job. Your job is to direct this play."
"Let's not argue about money, Hermione; it's so boring. How much did he give you.'^"
"Two hundred thousand. Money is never boring."
"Arguing about it is. I'll match that and you can do the same. Can we produce this play for six hundred thousand?"
"Yes."
"With the turntables?"
"I don't know. I haven't priced them. Jessie, are you sure you want to do this?"
Jessica was writing a check. Without looking up, she said, "You and Luke aren't the only ones who believe in me. I'm beginning to believe in me, too."
She handed the check to Hermione. "This is on my money management account in the U.S., but I don't think you'll have trouble depositing it." She raised her glass. "I think we should drink a toast to our play. And to all the people who will be sorry they didn't back it."
Hermione grinned. "I haven't felt this excited for a long time. We'll knock their socks off."
Knock their socks off, Jessica thought two weeks later, after the Christmas holidays, when they were at the Wharf rehearsal room for their first casting session. She and Hermione had exchanged gifts on Christmas morning, then cooked dinner together for a few of Hermione's friends. On New Year's Eve they had visited a couple in Melbourne, spending the
276 ~ Judith Michael
night and returning the next afternoon. "We don't want you getting gloomy about hoHdays," Hermione had said, and the week that Jessica had dreaded passed ahnost without pain.
Dear Luke, tnank you for tne wonaertul bracelet. It means so mucn to me tnat it comes from totn of you. I wore it to a quiet Ckristmas dinner, just ten people, ana an even quieter New Year's Eve in Melbourne: four of us, Hermione and I and tbe couple we were visiting. He owns a construction company and sne s a poet so the conversation roamed in all directions. You would nave enjoyed it. I nope your holidays were good, and I wish you a wonderful new year. Tbank you again. I love tne bracelet. Jessica.
She had mailed it on the way to the Wharf and it came to her as she sat in the rehearsal hall that she had not meant to add that last phrase, but at the last minute she knew she could not send him a letter that was so cold, about something so special. I love the bracelet. I love you. He would not make that connection.
Sitting beside Hermione, she watched two actors come to the center of the room. She was nervous and it did not help that the room was very hot. The doors to the harbor were open, but the faint breeze off the water seemed to lose heart before it reached them, and no air stirred except from two floor fans that had long since conceded defeat. Thermoses of iced tea and water were on the table where they sat, and Jessica took a long drink of ice water. "Let's begin in act one where Helen discovers that Rex has moved in next door." She turned the pages of her script, so marked up in places she could barely make out her notes. She looked around as someone opened the door and walked in: a short balding man with bowed legs, long arms, and bright blue eyes in a deeply tanned face.
"Sorry, so sorry I'm late, it won't happen again." He held out his hand. "Dan Clanagh. Your stage manager. Hell of a way to make an entrance, but somebody rear-ended me at a stoplight and nobody but me was in a hurry to get all the paperwork done so we could resume our suicidal dash through rush hour. Anyway, how do you do. I'm looking forward to working with you. This is a truly fine play."
Jessica was smiling as they shook hands, remembering what Hermione had said. "He's the best there is; you'll like him." And she did.
"Act one," she said again.
Acts of L
o V E ~ 277
She had done this so many times that she felt disoriented when the actors began to read their hnes. She was in the wrong place, on the wrong side of the table. Why was she silent while these people were speaking the lines of the play? She felt Hermione's hand on her arm. "Pay attention, Jessie. You
're directing this play."
Of course. She was directing this play. She would not be on stage. She would be behind the scenes, invisible and anonymous.
But I told Hermione I felt alive and whole and that is the truth. As long as I'm here, everything is all right.
She began to listen critically. Actors walked in, read, and left, and now and then she felt a spark of interest, but it was not a big spark and it never lasted long. "It must be me," she told Hermione that night at dinner. "They're all competent; there must be something wrong with me that I don't think any of them are right for this play. Maybe"—she forced herself to say it—"maybe I'm jealous."
"Could be," Hermione said casually. "But I didn't think they were right, either, and I haven't got a thing in the world to be jealous about. Tomorrow may be better; Angela Crown's coming to read Helen and she's impressive. And the one for Rex, well, I'm not sure about him, but he might do. If nothing else, you'll like his name. Whitbread Castle."
"What?"
"You heard me. His mother probably got it out of a romance novel. If we use them both, we'll have a crown and a castle. How can we go wrong?"
"You can't take anyone seriously with a name like that," Jessica said, but when she heard him read the next day she sat up with sudden interest. He was extraordinarily handsome, with a deep voice and a powerful aura of sexuality, and when he and Angela Crown read together it seemed they already felt some of the tension that would build between Helen and Rex throughout the play. Jessica let them read without interruption. "He's too tight," she murmured to Hermione at one point. "Voice and body. But we can loosen him up, don't you think?"
"Worth working on," Hermione whispered. "He's okay."
"And Angela?"
"Better than him. I like them both. Don't you?"
Jessica nodded. "Angela," she said, "would you read the last two lines again, please? But first tell us whether you're annoyed or curious or maybe threatened, that he's now your neighbor."
Angela Crown was a large woman, a trifle overweight, with masses of
278 ~ Judith Michael
blond hair. A faint coarseness in her features kept her from being beautiful, but she was attractive, and audiences found her easy to remember, in part because of her size. She wore a red sundress with thin straps and a plunging neckline and Jessica found all that skin quite imposing in a woman almost six feet tall. "Annoyed, curious, threatened," Angela repeated in a well-modulated voice. "Well, maybe all three, but probably mostly curious. I mean, I don't know yet if he knew I lived here or if it's just an accident that he's moved in."
"But if you think he might have known you lived there, and deliberately chose that apartment, do you think you might feel invaded."^"
"Invaded. Oh, you mean, what the hell is this guy from my childhood doing on my grown-up turf? I like that."
"Then would you think about that when you read those lines again ."^ And go on from there, both of you."
"Oh, much more interesting," said Hermione as Angela began again. "She's quick, and that's all we need, besides talent."
... so we cast ner,
Jessica wrote to Luke,
ana WnitDreaa, too. I tliougnt or asking nim to cnange nis name (telling nim ir it was snorter it would ne easier ror audiences to remember), nut I was pretty sure that would get me nownere and I'd ratlier ask only ror things I nave a good cnance or getting. He'll ne very good as Rex, once we loosen nim up. One or nis pronlems could ae tnat ne's never nad women as totn director and producer and, poor fellow, ne proDably reels as ir nis mother is sitting nere, doutled, and ne's torn Between renelling and being a dutirul son. I've asked Dan Clanagb, our stage manager, to pay attention to bim so be bas at least one man to talk to. Once we cast tbe other two parts, bell bave another man, and that should help bim reel he's not outnumbered; tbe two or them can whisper together like boys sneaking a cigarette behind tbe barn. We hope to rinisb tbe casting tomorrow and bave our rirst run-tbrougb no later than Monday. Ob, bow ra-miliar it is! But bow strange, too. Do you know bow it reels when you look through an airplane window at your neighborhood in New York and you can't identify hair tbe buildings rrom that weird
Acts of L
o V E ~ 279
perspective? That's now I reel now and sometimes it's so unnerving I begin to reel aisorientea, as ir I'm not sure wno I am. But tnat will pass, I'll get used to all or it, and most ol tne time I enjoy my view rrom tne plane a lot. I nope you got tne play; did you like it? Jessica.
Getting a little warm, she thought, reading it over. What happened to that cool distance I was so good at, no emotions, just facts.f* Maybe I should rewrite it; change a few sentences ... it wouldn't take long.
Oh, but it's so good to be able to tell him these things.
And she mailed the letter.
Dearest Jessica, do you have a fax machine? Love, Luke.
"I have one," Hermione said when Jessica asked her the next morning. "But you ought to have your own. I'll have my secretary bring you one tonight. Is that okay.''"
"Yes. Thank you." A man and woman walked into the rehearsal room and introduced themselves. "Let's begin in the second act," Jessica said, "where you first arrive to visit your son and you discover that Helen lives next door."
She was restless that morning and no one pleased her. They were in their third day of casting and she was increasingly impatient to get to rehearsals so that they could get to opening night. She wanted to discover how good she was, and she wanted to discover it right away. Now that she had let herself come back, all the years on Lopez seemed like marking time, and suddenly she wanted everything at once: challenge, achievement, success, acclaim. She wanted people to say she was wonderful, that in spite of all that had happened to her, in spite of what she looked like, she deserved admiration and praise and love.
/ love you. What does the way you loo have to do with that?
She brushed his voice away. It wasn't enough. She had to prove herself in other ways, stand on her own, become whatever person Jessica Fontaine would be from now on.
"Thank you," she said curtly to the two who had just read. "We'll let you know." Though of course they would not, because there would be nothing to say.
"Lunch," Hermione said, and they walked upstairs to the cafe. It was
280 ~ Judith Michael
airy and open, with glass walls and open glass doors so that it seemed to flow into the terrace and then to the harbor and on to the farther shore, where a face painted on a Ferris wheel grinned at them from an abandoned amusement park. They ate quickly, saying little, both of them frustrated and anxious and worn down by the heat. "Well, I apologize," Hermione said as they walked back downstairs. "Can't seem to do a damn bit of good around here."
"You found Angela and Whitbread; that was wonderful. How many do we have this afternoon.''"
"Four. One of the women might be okay. I haven't heard the men; they came from the management agency."
Jessica took her seat again, feeling hot and sticky and vaguely annoyed. There ought to be a better way to do this, she thought. She looked idly around the rehearsal room, her gaze passing over Dan Clanagh's perspiring baldness, a technician's shirt stained with sweat, and then up, to a group of people crowding onto the tiny balcony. They were all students except for a gray-haired man, and she found herself staring at his sad face, long and gaunt, and deep-set, shadowed eyes. She touched Hermione's arm. "Who is that man?"
Hermione turned to look. "Director of the drama department at the University of New South Wales. Just got here a few months ago. God, he looks unhappy."
"He looks like Stan."
Hermione stared openly at him. "He does indeed. I wonder if he can act."
"He's head of the drama department."
"Not a guarantee. Dan," she said, leaning over, "could you run upstairs and ask that guy, the tragic one, to come talk to us?"
When Dan led him to them, Hermione thrust out her hand and introduced herself "I'm bad at names and yours has slipped out
of my head."
"Edward Smith."
"Not much excuse for forgetting that one. I apologize. This is Jessica Fontaine. We'd like to talk to you; can you leave your students alone for a few minutes?"
"They've taken over the cafe upstairs. What can I do for you?"
"We're staging a new play," Jessica said. "I'm directing it; Hermione is the producer. We'd like you to read for one of the parts."
Acts of L
o V E ~ 281
"You've acted, of course," Hermione said.
"In Canada," he replied. "I never got very far. Why do you want me to read for this part.^"
"Because you look like this guy," Hermione said. "His name is Stan, he's about your age, with a forty-two-year-old son, and he and his wife have had a rough time because twenty years earlier someone took them for everything they had and he's never found a way back."
"A loser."
"A victim. But he comes back, they both do, and in a way they're the ones who triumph in the end. It's more complicated than that and more interesting, but if you don't mind trying a scene with just that much and a quick read-through, we'd like to hear you."
He turned to Jessica. "Have you ever known anyone picked out of a crowd to be just what you're looking for?"
"No. It would be a first."
He gave her a long look. "Give me ten minutes."
He went outside, to the broad walkway that ran the length of the building, and stood in a shaded corner, reading the section Jessica had marked. When he returned, he said, "Who will read with me?"
"Nora Thomas," Hermione said. "Our last hope for Doris, at least for today. Nora? We're ready."
A stocky woman with steel-gray hair, a pug nose and full rosy cheeks closed her book and came to them from her chair in the corner. She took the script Jessica handed her, glanced at it and nodded.
She and Edward Smith shook hands, eyed each other, then sat on facing chairs some distance from Jessica and Hermione, and began to read a dialogue between Stan and Doris. Jessica clasped her hands in her lap, listening for what could be drawn out in the future, as well as for what was there now. When the voices stopped, she said, "Thank you. Would you please wait outside?" As they left, she turned to Hermione. "Well?"
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