by Lian Dolan
I owed Soul Patch Boy a high five.
“It’s a win-win for FX and Ted,” Hank continued. “FX has been looking for an opportunity to do a Brad Pitt–Rebuild–New Orleans-type deal for a while, but he thought all the good causes were taken. We did a little tsunami stuff because he loves to vacation in Thailand, but he didn’t feel that connected to the material. But this, your idea, your passion, has reignited his passion for Shakespeare and for being a part of something bigger, like a cast. He wants to take it to the next level, lead the fight for arts education, particularly theater. He’s totally into this.”
Truthfully, being part of a cast wasn’t really being a part of something that much bigger, but in the context of an FX-centered life, I guess it was. I nodded a lot and waited for Rafa to speak.
Rafa did, in full chief-of-staff mode. “Ted wants to support education reform and the idea of giving an underserved population of students a brighter future, but signing some of those reforms into legislation can be very difficult politically and take a long time to negotiate. With this, he can make a statement that studying the arts is an important way to expand a student’s knowledge of history, politics, language, relationships, you name it. He’s impressed with how Maddie seems to have matured this summer. And an alliance with someone of FX’s stature is beneficial, given Ted’s political aspirations. A high-profile, privately funded foundation is the perfect middle-ground solution.” Nothing had ever sounded sexier to me than the words “high-profile, privately funded foundation” coming out of Rafa’s mouth. I needed some air.
“We’re going Bono on this. Totally bipartisan. No rancor, just turning kids on to Shakespeare,” Hank added. Then he went on to explain that I would be onboard to help steer the “education and selection piece.” Hank and Rafa would take care of the business end of the foundation. “Our legal team sets up foundations for our clients all the time, because, like every day, some actor wants to cure something. Leave this to us.”
Clearly, the majority of the celeb foundations Hank’s agency set up were in name only. It appeared that Congressman Ted and FX wanted this one to be different, to actually be a foundation serving students with an interest in the Bard. Rafa nodded in agreement, as if they’d actually had a lengthy conversation about how to convince me to do this. Convince me? Where do I sign up?!
“Think about it, Elizabeth. It will be a time commitment on your part. You’ll have to be involved on a monthly, even weekly basis, if we want this to really work. And you might have to oversee the summer portion of the program for the first few years. Of course, we can give you a salary for that. We’ve already talked to Gus Grant here at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, and they would love to be a part of the pilot season next year, so that may mean coming back here next year.” Hank spoke in such a serious tone for a guy wearing seersucker pants.
If they were trying to scare me off, threatening me with another summer in Ashland wasn’t the way to do it. First, though, I wanted to confirm my interest and let them know they weren’t the only big thinkers in town. “As a matter of fact, I was working on a similar plan. To that end, I’ve already had a meeting with the president of Redfield College about Summer with Shakespeare. He’s very taken with the idea and interested in possibly providing dorms and staffing.” Both men murmured approval. “So it goes without saying, I’d love to be involved, at whatever level you need me.”
Hank gave me the thumbs up, a gesture that never fails to amuse me.
Thanks to the sun slanting through the hotel shades, I had to turn my head sharply and found myself staring straight at Rafa. There was admiration in his eyes. “Well done.”
3 Simple Steps to
Be a Cleopatra in
the Bedroom
“Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, But she makes hungry Where she most satisfies.”
Antony & Cleopatra
1. CHOOSE WISELY You don’t need to have sex with a lot of men, just the right men. According to her biographer, Cleopatra only slept with two men. Thousands of years of gossip and scandalous rumors, and only two men! Of course, they were Julius Caesar and Mark Antony, both powerful (and married) Romans. But the queen chose wisely: one for power and one for love.
2. BUY REALLY GOOD SHEETS According to historians, Cleopatra used to wrap herself in bed linens and then have the bundle delivered to Mark Antony to unwrap. (So much classier than the naked-under-the-raincoat trick.) While you might not have the household staff to pull off a Wrap and Deliver, you can spend a few bucks on good sheets.
3. MAKE THE MOST OF WHAT YOUR MAMA GAVE YOU Experts agree that Cleopatra was no great beauty, but she managed to pretty much define female sexual power for thousands of years. How? She worked it. Charisma and confidence, ladies, are the most powerful aphrodisiacs.
CHAPTER 22
The October day in 2008 when my father was awarded the Nobel Prize, my mother called a few minutes after five in the morning and simply said, “Your father won. He won.” There wasn’t any doubt about exactly what he had won. It was October and it was five in the morning, which could mean only one thing: Sweden called.
The rumors that maybe, just maybe, his work was significant enough to get noticed by the Swedes had been in circulation for several years, his research having reached maturation and fulfilling the Nobel’s “test of time” standard. But with the Nobel, there’s no public list of finalists, just cocktail-party speculation, and then, one October morning very early if you live in the Pacific time zone, you receive a phone call from Gunnar Oquist, secretary of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences. My father had gotten his call for what the Academy declared “groundbreaking experimental methods in measuring and manipulation of individual quantum systems.”
In other words, I told my fellow PCC instructors later that day in the break room, he had figured out something nobody else had before: how to measure ultra-tiny particles without changing the basic nature of ultra-tiny particles, which normally liked to morph when measured. No follow-up questions please, I begged the room full of English majors and history geeks, because that’s as deep as my understanding runs, except I can tell you that he used powerful magnets and lasers to measure those little quantum buggers.
Immediately after my mother called, I threw on some clothes, jumped in my car and stopped at Eurocafe, my dad’s favorite coffee shop, for a large to-go container of Sumatra and some croissants to bring to my parents’ house. Of course, I blurted out to the gracious owner, Kim, “My dad was awarded the Nobel Prize!” at which point she promptly declared the coffee and pastries on the house and told me to tell my father, one of her favorite grumpy old men, that he’d “never pay for coffee again at Eurocafe.” When I arrived, Bumble and Maddie were already there, and Sarah, Steven, and the girls tumbled in minutes later. We sat around the kitchen table, hanging on every word as my father recounted what would become his oft-told Getting the Call Story. (“I couldn’t find my glasses and I was so distracted looking for them, Gunter or Gomer or Gunner Whatshisname had to repeat the news three times. I mean, I didn’t really need my glasses to talk on the phone, did I?”) We celebrated with coffee and champagne, laughing and toasting, in our sweats and bathrobes.
Then I told my father the good news about coffee on the house for life and he was overcome with emotion. Honestly, tears sprung to his eyes, as if the entirety of his efforts had finally been justly rewarded with free coffee for life!
By ten that morning, my father was whisked off by the Caltech Office of Communications, which was experienced in exactly this sort of press inundation, for a day filled with interviews by journalists who pretended to understand what my father was talking about when he described his work. By late that afternoon, he had told his Getting the Call Story to everyone from the New York Times to NPR to Diane Sawyer with the charm and self-effacing humor he could turn on when he wanted, which wasn’t often. Most embarrassing question? Larry King asked if his work had any relation
ship to the TV show Quantum Leap. For real. After a producer saw my father nail his Anderson Cooper segment, he was booked on The Daily Show for his first post-ceremony interview. Bumble was beside herself. “He’ll be the new Michio Kaku.”
That never materialized, but the weeks that followed were a blur. My father was feted and honored by everyone from the President of the United States to the president of the Pasadena Rotary Club. In between accolades, he worked on his half-hour mini lecture that he was obligated to give before both accepting the prize and making the required five-minute toast to honor the King of Sweden. The lecture was easy; the toast had him in a tizzy. He asked me for help. “I need one great quote,” he begged. “That’s your area.” I introduced him to YouTube, where he studied the dozen previous banquet toasts posted there. (And where he also discovered the entertaining world of unfortunate skateboard and snowboard accidents, which amused him to no end.) Then I told him to go with Yeats, because you can’t go wrong with Yeats.
My mother took in every good wish as if she herself had been in a lab for thirty years, using the imperial “we” to describe the experience—and I will say, she really did deserve some credit. Her sacrifices for my father’s career were well documented, particularly by her. She had put up with countless dinners alone, faculty politics, and being solely responsible for creating a childhood for us while he concentrated on his work. As a reward, she intended to put that Nobel money to immediate use. After years of “dressing like the French,” she was done with buying one or two good outfits to get though a season. She was taking a steamer trunk to Stockholm.
By the time he descended the steps of the Blue Hall in Stockholm, looking like an elegant Alan Alda with his medal, the official diploma, a check for 1.7 million dollars, and Princess Sophia on his arm, it was clear his life would never be the same. Unlike the atoms he works with, he was fundamentally changed. (And, for the record, hats off to the Swedish royal family. There’s not much going on in the frozen north these days, with Volvo and Saab gone, but they really put on a fabulous show in honor of Alfred Nobel, et al. The slate of parties, lectures, balls, and banquets was top-notch pomp and circumstance, and every member of the royal family sported a sash all week long. Bravo.)
When my father returned to his Pasadena lab, settling back into life’s natural rhythms, Dependable Jane stopped by with all the newspaper clippings carefully laminated for posterity and a new needlepoint pillow that featured the phrase: Got Nobel? She wanted every detail and scooped up all the official programs for future lamination. She asked breathlessly, “What was the best part of the experience?”
Richard Lancaster, Nobel laureate, didn’t hesitate a bit. “Oh, the morning I found out and Elizabeth brought the free coffee. That was great.”
Now, in the kitchen of Sage Cottage contemplating the events of the last thirty-six hours, I was having my own free-coffee moment. Except for me, it was the tuna sandwich I’d ordered from the Ashland Springs room service menu and charged to Hank’s room after nailing down the details of my participation in Summer with Shakespeare. Hank offered lunch and I said, “Yes.” It had been a triumphant day, and it wasn’t even over yet. Had any tuna sandwich ever tasted better? I think not.
I hadn’t exactly won the Nobel Prize, but I felt fundamentally changed. Like a million fractured components that had constituted my life up to this point had come together to create one clear path. When I decided to go to Ashland, I vowed to say yes to opportunities that in the past I might have blown off out of fear or sheer laziness. Now those yeses had paid off. I suppose my methods didn’t impress with their lack of predetermination, but somehow I’d put myself in the right place at the right time, a professional and personal first.
The play, the book, and the potential of the foundation was the sort of career path I wouldn’t have dreamed possible six months ago, and it was exactly right for me.
On top of that, I’d managed to handle the arrival of my entire family with what I’d like to call wit and grace while standing up to my mother and impressing my sisters. And my father and I had reached a new level of understanding.
And Rafa? Well, that was yet to be determined, but there was something there, I knew it. Maybe I just had to say, “Yes” one more time to find out.
But at that moment, I was sure enjoying that tuna sandwich.
The scene at Chozu Tea Gardens unfolded like one of those really long Steadicam shots in a Martin Scorsese movie, with characters from my past, present, and future interacting in unexpected ways in what appeared to be slow motion. The music, food, and white lights were all familiar, but everything else in the picture was new. From morning until night, the day had been a blur of activity, ending with an amazing performance of Midsummer that had captivated my skeptical family. Even they couldn’t resist being swept up in the peace, love, and fairy dust. Now, at the after-party at FX’s place, my family and the cast and crew mingled like longtime friends.
My parents stood shoulder to shoulder with Taz Buchanan, all three fully engaged in conversation about the effects of hallucinogens on lab rats. Agent Hank was exchanging cards with his new ally, Duff Miller, and his wife, Grace, now sans clarinet and won ton costume. Sarah was clearly giving free medical advice to Lulu and several members of the cast who were revealing inappropriate body parts. Dependable Jane was dancing with Drunk Puck (the actor, not the dog), and Funseeker Mary Pat was flirting with Lysander and Demetrius, oblivious to the fact that the two men were gay, or maybe it didn’t matter to her. Maddie and Dylan were taking pictures of themselves on their phones, clearly having learned nothing from the last few days.
In the middle of it all, of course, were Bumble and Congressman Ted. They were toasting, toasting with FX and his co-star, Sabrina, who couldn’t have looked more intimidating in her body-hugging red dress and several blue glow-stick necklaces. The reporters who had been around for the short announcement about the foundation were long gone, so there were no unfriendly photographers to catch anyone off guard. The beer, wine, and tuna rolls were flowing. All around me, harmony was breaking out and spirits were high, another night of the Midsummer dream.
Watching my serious family come together in this spirit of fun and adventure was an added bonus to the already satisfying day. I felt like for once I wasn’t the odd man out in the Lancaster clan, the bantamweight in the ring with heavyweights. Now I was in the center of the action. I was the glue.
The only one who didn’t seem swept up in the moment was Rafa, who was tucked in a corner of the garden on his phone. Who was he calling on the Fourth of July? Was there some kind of Wonks Anonymous group he checked in with when he missed discussing the latest from Politico?
Taz didn’t leave me much time for contemplation, as he bounded over with energy and purpose. He was leaving in the morning, his work in Ashland done. For its final performances, he’d leave the play in the hands of the stage manager, Lulu. Maddie had told me that he was going back to Sydney to start preproduction on his next film, a modern-day version of The Odyssey starring Chris Hemsworth, every girl’s favorite Aussie and no stranger to skirt-and-sword epics. But at this moment, Taz was carefree, beer in hand and sarong in place; no doubt he’d be in the soaking tub within minutes. My only hope was that Dependable Jane wouldn’t be involved. “So, Lizzie, nice boots.”
Yes, I was wearing red cowboy boots and a white sundress, figuring I had one last shot with Rafa before he got back on that private jet to leave my time zone. I ignored Taz’s remark completely, as he no longer intimidated me. “It looks like we’ll be working together in perpetuity on this Shakespeare thing, Tazzie,” I said. “Shall we call a truce?”
“Oh, we’re not enemies,” he said with an actual wink. “We’re worthy adversaries. You played me to your advantage. I played you a bit. And look how it all worked out: I got a hit play; you got a foundation. Go to your bosom; Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.”
“Measure for Measure. A play about power, sex, political scandal, and false a
ccusations. Very nice.” Then I took advantage of our intimacy and confessed. “As long as we’re friends now, I should tell you, FX…is really a whole man.”
“Bah! You think I didn’t know that? Okay, maybe I fell for it in the bar, but by the morning, I knew you’d had me. But I admired your spirit,” he said. “I was just testing him, seeing how far he would go. I was never going through with it.”
“Liar. You were testing him, which I knew. But you would have gone through with it, because why not? A naked FX Fahey? That’s only good for box office,” I shot back, and by the look on his smug face, I knew I was right. “And I know you deliberately stirred the pot in the Maddie scandal. But I gotta give it to you. You sold a lot of tickets, got a lot of press, created a lot of buzz. Just remember: Tis excellent to have a giant’s strength. But it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.”
“You got me!” he barked. “But guess what, milady? Sorry to offend your sensibilities, but our Midsummer may be going to Lincoln Center.” I gasped. “Full production. Musical numbers! Dancers! Giant projection slide show! And lots and lots of nudity! You’ll love it.”
“I’ll hate it, but congratulations,” I said, giving him a hug and getting a tad too close to his sarong opening. “And I want two tickets to opening night.”
“Two? I thought you could be my date?” Taz held on to the hug.
“I don’t think so. Not feeling that good about our relationship, Taz.” I backed way off. “I’ll take Maddie to New York as her graduation gift.”
Just then Ming appeared with blowers and sparklers, announcing, “Ten minutes to the fireworks! Ten minutes! Best spot to watch is on the rooftop deck. One at a time, please!” The crowd started to move toward the narrow staircase with great enthusiasm, and I took that as my cue to leave.
