Just before they got into the car to drive off, Mac leaned close to me and said, “I’ve decided how to deal with our breakup in the book. I’m going to say it was all my fault.”
“It was all your fault, Mac.”
“Let’s not get all sticky about what is and is not true. That hardly seems relevant to the story of my life. I’m just saying, I’m going to be nice and take the blame.”
I decided to say “thank you” mainly so he wouldn’t change his mind.
“And, well, I think if we’d stayed together it might not have been so bad.”
“I’m not unhappy with my life. I like the things I’ve done.”
“Yes, but you would have been happier with me.”
Timothy was looking anxious, and Dewey was going to be there any moment to take me to dinner before the show. I didn’t have time to argue with Mac. But I also didn’t want to give in.
“Get in the car, Mac. It’s time to go.”
“Admit it; you would have been happier with me.”
Over the roof of the car I said to Timothy, “Have a safe trip. Don’t let Mac drive.” Timothy waved at me and got into the car.
“Admit it! You would have been happier.”
I pushed Mac into the passenger seat and shut the door on him. Quickly, he rolled down the window, “Admit it!”
Moments later they were gone.
The next two and a half weeks were delightful. It’s surprising how lovely life gets once the threat of imminent death is removed. After opening night, Heaven Sent improved substantially. How could it not? I felt real affection for the cast, though it might have been something akin to what you feel for people with whom you’ve survived a natural disaster. Still, it was a pleasure to watch their performances improve each night and to see Wendell’s confidence grow. Unlike many directors I’d worked with, Wendell wore confidence well. He had good instincts, he was just too often tripped up by what he thought a director should be doing rather than just mucking about and seeing what worked. Confidence allowed him to muck about a bit more.
The affair with Dewey was moving along in a lovely way. I was truly saddened by the idea that it would soon come to an end. We’d talked tentatively about Dewey’s coming to New York for a weekend or two after I moved, and it seemed like a possibility. But having taken to the road in two national touring companies, I had sincere doubts about long distance relationships.
Of course, I could stay a little longer in Marlboro. The town had begun to grow on me, and I hadn’t done much about putting together the information I’d need to open A Rock and a Hard Place off-Broadway. Hadn’t gone online to find out what theaters might be available. Hadn’t checked into problems I might have with the unions. Hadn’t looked around to find a producer, or a director, or anyone to help me. If I was honest with myself, and occasionally I tried to be, I wasn’t all that interested.
It was as though seeing Mac again and hearing him admit that he’d left me because he didn’t think I was in the same league, artistically at least, well...it made everything different. I can’t say that I was all that surprised by his revelation. I think I may have known it all along. And that made me wonder if my entire career had been dependent on proving something to McCormack Williams. Certainly, most of the impressive things that had happened to me, happened after we broke up. Could that really be where my drive had come from? And now that I truly didn’t care what McCormack Williams thought, was my drive about to dissipate?
I still loved acting, though. In fact, performing Heaven Sent three performances a week was more fun than I’d had acting in...well, in ages. Wendell kept dropping hints to me about doing Pygmalion or some other Shaw play at the Red Barn the following season. I suspected he was doing it so I’d continue to support the theater, but even so. When I compared playing Henry Higgins to my over-sexed Rock Hudson, well, Higgins won out. Maybe Mac was right. Maybe my one-man show really was a collection of fictitious dirty stories without much point. Maybe I was fooling myself to think anyone would want to come and see it.
No, I had to stop thinking like that. I had to be my own best friend and talk sternly to myself. No matter how I looked at it, what I was really thinking about was throwing over a soon-to-be thriving acting career for a man. And I was way too old to do something as stupid as that. Even if the man was as nice as Dewey. And as attractive. And as smart. And happened to have saved my life at least once.
Plus, I was reasonably certain that it was the last thing he wanted. He’d been encouraging my plans for the show, after all. He even asked if I needed some help incorporating, which of course I did, though we hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I wondered what he’d do if I threw it all over for him. Would he be happy? Or would he run for the hills? Maybe he was just having fun with me. Which is, of course, what we said we were doing. I couldn’t really be upset if that’s what was really going on, could I? I knew I had to sit down and seriously think all of this through, but I was having too much fun spending time with Dewey and doing the show. So, I hadn’t.
But then, three days before the show closed, Constance found a buyer for Mac’s house. She was very excited because the buyer came to her after hearing through the grapevine that the house was haunted and had offered us nearly full price. Of course, Mac was gone so this gentleman was going to be very disappointed. Though that was hardly my problem. Legally, Dewey said I couldn’t be held responsible for the disappearance of a ghost—though we both knew I was.
During the course of things, Constance explained that a buyer could call out certain things that must come with the sale of the house. For instance, the buyer had wisely called out that the cinnamon curtains stayed—they would cost a fortune to replace. In this case, though, it was unlikely the buyer would call out that the house “must come with ghost.” Constance told me after the show that her buyer wanted to meet and learn more about the house.
“There’s not much I can tell him. I’ve only been there a few weeks,” I reminded her.
“He’s been reading up on Mac, he’s sure it’s Mac who’s been haunting the house.” She looked away uncomfortably for a moment and added, “I may have encouraged that idea.”
I wondered how much she knew about everything that had happened. Certainly Mac had toyed with her, more than once. And then there was opening night to consider. Constance might know a lot about what Mac was up to.
“I can promise you Mac won’t be there. I hope the buyer won’t be too upset.”
She smiled wanly. “Don’t feel you have to chase him away.”
“I don’t have to chase him away. He’s already gone.”
“But you can’t be sure of that.”
“I’m certain.”
“Please don’t say that. At least not in front of the client.”
The next morning the two of them came by. It wasn’t quite ten and Dewey was still there from the night before, dressed and ready to leave for work. The buyer was a gentleman named Tobias Feeth. I smiled when Constance introduced us and imagined that he’d had a great deal of trouble in school with a name like that. He looked around the house again, but unlike most buyers he wasn’t measuring the kitchen.
“So the haunting is rather recent, isn’t it?” he asked.
“There’s no haunting,” I said.
“Yes, of course, but Mr. McCormack died recently?”
“Yes,” Dewey explained. “Nearly a month ago.”
“So if he’s the ghost then it’s a recent haunting.”
“Except there’s no haunting,” I said.
Constance pulled me away and hissed at me, “What are you doing? You know he wants the house to be haunted. Tell him it’s haunted or you’ll mess up the deal.”
I turned back to Mr. Feeth and said, “It’s not haunted.”
“Well, it was,” she insisted.
“And now it’s not.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Mr. Feeth said loudly. “I’m buying the house for the haunting. You won’t scare me off.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Constance said. “You can never tell for certain whether a home is haunted. And, we did have some unusual things happen here. Didn’t we, Cal?”
“This house isn’t haunted any longer,” I explained. “He’s gone.”
For the first time, worry crossed Mr. Feeth’s face. “Gone? So you...interacted with the ghost? With Mr. McCormack?”
I glanced at Dewey and then admitted, “Yes. He was my ex-lover and we had some issues that needed to be resolved. We resolved them. And now he’s gone.”
“I don’t believe you. You’ve got a better offer and you want to get rid of me. I’ll match whatever offer you’ve got.”
“We don’t have another offer, Mr. Feeth,” Dewey explained. “What Cal said is correct, Mac was here but now he’s not.”
“So, you’ve all seen the ghost?”
Dewey and I nodded. Constance said, “I never actually saw him. But he goosed me, twice.”
“Can you get him back?”
“If you’re that interested in meeting him you could try the University of Wisconsin archives,” I explained. “He’s with his biographer for the next few years.”
“And then he’s coming back here?”
“Oh, if I know Mac he’ll be going on the book tour.”
“You’re pulling my leg. Ghosts haunt houses, not book tours.” Mr. Feeth turned to Constance and continued, “I really wanted the ghost more than the house.” He turned to me and Dewey and said, “If you want to sell the house you’ll need to produce the ghost.”
“I guess I’m not selling the house, then.”
I watched the blood drain from Constance’s face as she realized she’d lost her commission. Mr. Feeth glared at me, waiting for me to change my mind. When I didn’t, he stormed out of the house with Constance running after him claiming to know of some truly terrifying properties she could show him. I was left standing with Dewey. He studied me for a moment and said, “You did that deliberately, didn’t you?”
“All I did was tell the truth. The house isn’t haunted.”
“Yes, but there are ways to tell the truth and ways to tell the truth. You could have been honest in a way that would have left him still wanting the house...in hopes that Mac would come back.”
“He’s not coming back though.”
“He might.”
We were silent for a moment, then Dewey said, “You don’t want to sell the house, do you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Well...it’s a lovely vacation home. And you can afford it, if you don’t spend too much money on your show, and living in New York, and... I guess it’s not really my business.”
“It might be your business.”
“It might be? The lawyer in me is going to need clarification.”
“I don’t think I want to go to New York. I don’t think I want to do the show.”
“Why not? Because of me?” Dewey got a worried look on his face and I could see that he was worried about being that responsible for my decisions.
“No,” I said. “I’d stay here because of you. But I wouldn’t not go to New York because of you.”
“Okay,” he said dubiously.
“I think I’ve begun to realize something. The reason it was so important to me to be a successful actor was that I had an inkling... I mean, I kind of knew why Mac broke up with me and I was trying to prove something. To him. Or to me. I don’t know. But now I don’t have to prove anything.”
“So you’re giving up acting?”
“Oh God, no. I’m giving up the idea of being a success at it. I want to keep doing it because I love it. And that I can do anywhere, really. I can do that here.” He still looked uncomfortable. I couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Actually, Wendell has been as seductive as you have.”
“Really? You’ve got something going with Wendell?”
I nodded. “He’s been tempting me with George Bernard Shaw.”
“Well, isn’t that just like him.” He took a deep breath and said, “You know it’s funny. I was thinking of possibly going to New York with you. I mean, if you were interested...in that.”
He seemed a bit nervous so I smiled at him and took a step closer.
“Whether you stay or whether you go,” Dewey said. “I think we should do it together.”
“Yes, I’ve been coming to that same conclusion.”
And then he kissed me.
Epilogue
Love Means Never Having to Say Good-bye
In one of my plays, honestly I forget which one, I wrote that relationships only end in one of two ways: They end in divorce or they end in death. Ironically, death is the happier ending. It’s the one we’re all rooting for, after all. ‘Til death do us part and all that jazz. Seriously, you’d think people would have a party when their spouse died—“Yay! We made it!” Of course, no one does—have a party, I mean—and I do understand that it doesn’t feel like a happy ending. It feels like shit.
But, as I’ve learned, death is not so bad an ending. If it’s an ending at all. By the way, I’m still waiting for some kind of instruction or orientation or even a vague feeling about exactly what’s going on with this afterlife thing. I’m sure it will come.
Eventually.
I can only imagine with all the people dying every minute—which has to number into the tens of thousands—that there’s a lot to be dealt with. Really, it has to be a bureaucratic nightmare. An all-powerful God could deal with it, I suppose, so I guess I was right not to believe in that. There may still be a God out there somewhere, but if my experience is any example, we’re talking semi-powerful, overworked, harried and exhausted. A God all too like the creatures he created in his image.
In the meantime, writing my autobiography with that Timothy boy was fabulous fun. As was haunting his sex dreams now and then. I should probably have him write a book about that. Hah! The biography, of course, was a grand success. And most of it is even true. Well, the dull parts are true and there are very few of those. Some of the people I mention are still alive so there were threats of legal action—which is always good for sales.
The success of my biography has created a renewed interest in my plays. And there are several interesting revivals I’m planning to pop in and see. The movie rights to one of my lesser plays sold and Cal was able to put a lot of that money toward endowing the Barnyard Players. I’m afraid, though, they’ve lost some of their charm. With Cal’s influence they’re becoming much more professional and have even brought in some talented actors from downstate. I find the fumbling of amateur actors so much more amusing myself. But to each his own.
I suppose you want some kind of clue as to how things turn out for Cal and Dewey. Well, things have gone swimmingly. Cal has adjusted well to the small-time, I mean small town life, though he has joined a professional regional theater located just outside the Metro region and spends a good deal of his time down there doing overrated twentieth-century classics like Death of a Salesman, All My Sons and Harvey. Seriously, a play in which the main character is invisible? A classic? In a few years, I suspect Kirby will finally retire from teaching acting at Winton Community College and Cal will take over for him. He’ll be a very good teacher. Something I’m sure he gets from me.
Dewey has remained on the board of the Barnyard Players. He’s also joined the boards of a number of other annoying, progressive organizations. I’m afraid he’s about to turn into something of a crusader. Of course, all that heartfelt sentiment gives me gas. Oh, and recently Dewey successfully defended a young man wrongly accused of murder, making him rather famous in the upstate area. Love and a grand success, you can’t ask for much more than that. Can you?
As for the players, Constance continues her matchmaking efforts claiming to have introduced Dewey and Cal, which of course is absolutely untrue. If anyone gets
credit for introducing them, I do. Fortunately, her real-estate career is doing well and she’s not at all tempted to become a professional matchmaker. Grady has been very distressed by the changes the Barnyard Players have made and has mutinied. He’s started another community theater where the plays are just delightful disasters. When I’m lurking about I enjoy their productions quite a bit. Jane continues to put up with Grady. I assume that means he’s good in bed. Wendell is still artistic director of the Barnyard Players. He’s started an intern program with Winton Community College, an excellent idea if he’d just stop trying to date the college freshmen. Even I find it unseemly.
And as for me, well, I guess I’ll just continue to wait around until…oh wait, someone’s coming. Finally! Can you believe it? There’s more than one of them…oh my, it’s a committee. I’m not sure I do well with committees. Oh damn, I hope this isn’t going to be the nineteen ninety-seven Tony’s all over again.
My Favorite Uncle
Martin Dixon’s carefully-constructed, peaceful life is turned upside down when his super Christian eighteen-year-old nephew Carter shows up unexpectedly on his doorstep and announces he’s gay. Martin’s first impulse is to send him back to his parents. But when he discovers that Carter has been in a mental hospital to cure his gay-ness he realizes he’s stuck with the boy. Unfortunately, the two get on each other’s nerves, each driving the other to distraction. Independently, however, they each arrive at the same conclusion. The other would be much less annoying if he only had… a boyfriend.
Honorable Mention - 2014 Rainbow Awards
Runner Up - 2014 Rainbow Awards
“Marshall Thornton’s latest departure from the “Boystown” series is an understated masterpiece, tiptoeing into young adult territory without ever losing sight of its very grown-up personality and audience. From the cartoon-like drawings on the cover of “My Favorite Uncle” to the light-hearted sit-comic tone of the writing, Thornton’s book disguises a complex, sober story under the droll banter and teenaged eye-rolling of “Modern Family” (one, I hasten to add, that would never make it on national TV).” Ulysses Dietz, Prism Book Alliance
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