Love in the Loire

by David Leddick

  It was a really bad idea. The windmill sails had to actually turn because when the leading lady escapes, she does so by hanging onto a sail and riding high into the night to leap off and meet her lover. I have no idea how this was done in the original production. But in ours, Steve and I were to help the leading lady escape by swinging on the sail and pulling her up with us. Cranston Muller’s plan for accomplishing this was to have a stage crew all in black pull ropes down on one side of the windmill sails and thus pulling the other side up with its human cargo.

  The human cargo was less than thrilled with this idea. Particularly when I learned that Cass Brewster had been hired to convert the tower into a fake windmill. I had visions of the whole thing collapsing and dropping Steve and I with Leslie clasped in our arms right into the audience.

  The further we got into the production, the more we began wondering why we were doing this show. Cranston Muller must have dangled the production in front of Kitty Carlisle Hart to lure her into the Loire Valley. Her name was adding luster to his festival in someone’s eyes in New York, I suppose. I don’t think Cranston was at all familiar with the show or he would have anticipated the problems with the damned mill from the beginning.

  I asked Kitty how the escape scene was done in the production in which she starred. “We junked it, finally,” she said. “I think in the original casting they had some kind of vaudeville acrobats in mind who were going to hang off that windmill and snatch me up, and they weren’t at all funny so they were replaced with comedians who weren’t at all athletic. They tried it on one of the chorus girls and they almost dropped her and that’s all I had to see. I told Lou Manolis, the producer, I wasn’t going to do it. And he said, ‘Then you’re out of the show.’ And I said, ‘Fine. I’d rather be out of the show and living than in the show and dead.’ I went home to my mother and cried. I told her ‘There goes my first big break, and I’ll never get another one.’ My poor mother. We lived on Park Avenue. She never understood why I wanted to be a musical comedy star in the first place. Ladies didn’t do that kind of thing. But it was the 1930s and actually we needed the money. I remember my mother saying, ‘If Tallulah Bankhead can make it, anybody can make it. Everybody talked about the fact that her father was Speaker of the House, as if that meant someone had talent!’”

  “So you never even did that escape scene?” I said.

  “As I recall, I climbed up a ladder on the side of the windmill and stood on a little platform beside the sails. Which did not turn because if they did they would have knocked me off. I don’t know why but they were very keen on having artists perched up on things in those days. They wanted me in a show in Radio City Music Hall where I was to sing standing on a platform that came up out of the stage that was two feet square and went up about forty feet into the air. I told them they were mad, but they found people who would do it. They didn’t give a damn. There were no unions. There was no insurance. And everyone was desperate to work. You can imagine the combination of actors who want to perform plus it being the Depression. That’s why Busby Berkeley did those production numbers in Hollywood with hundreds of girls. He wanted to give them work. I was lucky. The show was very close to opening, and the understudy really wasn’t up to holding a show together so they called me back in. As though nothing had happened. And I went to Hollywood from that show.”

  Which left me wondering what I was supposed to be doing in our show. Fortunately, they couldn’t get the windmill sails to work, so we were spared rehearsing that scene. “Just fake it,” Cranston Muller would say.

  As we finished rehearsals one day, Cranston passed me in the seating area and said, “You can have the Burgomaster role, you know.”

  “What about E. L.?” I said.

  “He can have your role,” he said.

  “We’re so far down the line in rehearsals I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I said.

  “That’s my worry, not yours. I think you should have a more prominent role if you’re going to star in Tea and Sympathy next. Get audiences used to thinking about you in leading roles.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Mr. Muller. And if you’re thinking of me for the leading role in Tea and Sympathy, that’s even nicer. But I like my role. It’s giving me a chance to play comedy. I like it, and I like working with Steve.”

  “I hear that’s not all you like to do with Steve,” he said.

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” I said and walked away.

  Estelle was sitting at the café by herself, and I joined her. “I think Cranston Muller is coming on to me,” I said. I ordered a Diet Coke.

  “Did you think he wasn’t going to?” she said.

  “I suppose it’s kind of obligatory,” I said.

  “People would think he wasn’t being professional if he wasn’t chasing one of the best-looking men in the cast,” Estelle said, stirring up the sugar in the bottom of her espresso. “On the other hand, you are pretty hot. And blond. That’s not so common these days since Robert Redford suddenly got so old.”

  “I thought he was going to hang on forever,” I said.

  “He almost did. Faye Dunaway and he. I thought I was going to go to my grave with those two still playing romantic leads.”

  “You’re fun, Estelle. Mr. Muller said he was looking forward to my playing the lead role in Tea and Sympathy. Am I going to have to put out to hang onto that role?”

  Estelle looked shocked. “Not for a summer stock lead. Who cares if you don’t get that lead? You’ve already done your thing here. You’re doing leads, and you’re still in your mid-twenties. Listen, I never slept with anyone in the theater to get ahead. I slept with some guys because they attracted me, and sometimes they were instrumental in my getting roles. But the way I looked at it was that they were lucky to get me. They could have put some dodo in the part who wouldn’t have been as good as I was, and they would have paid the penalty. I’m good. You’re good. We are not exactly a dime a dozen. There are tons of people who want to be successful in the theater. There are only a few that have something to bring to it other than their physical beauty. You can really act, Hugo. E. L. can really act. Steve can’t really act. He’s just gorgeous. You don’t have to sleep with anyone to make it. That’s your call. And now I really must go.”

  “You always leave as though you’re going somewhere more interesting,” I said.

  “Lucky me,” she said and went walking away in her starlike manner, always with a flying scarf or a flip of a skirt, across the place and toward the gates of the Abbey.

  Nina’s Bedroom

  I have a very nice bedroom in Cornichons. What is particularly nice about it is that when the old outside blinds are closed there is a wonderful light inside. During these long, lazy summer afternoons there is a soft, dark light inside that almost seems to be the breeze that blows through. As though the breeze and the light are one. You almost bathe in it.

  My bedroom is gray. The color of noninvolvement. That’s what the color test I once took told me. Perhaps that’s right. When you are in your bedroom you want to be shut away from all the concerns of daily life that require battle. My bed has a black-and-white cotton bedspread with a pattern of a fish upon it. The sign of Aquarius. Another indication of uninvolvement. The slippery fish darting here and there. I have a beautiful art deco dressing table and small armoire I bought from Monsieur Malbon, down the river in Folies de Grandeur. Monsieur Malbon buys entire households of furniture from families who have inherited from an ancient aunt or grandmother. He puts the best pieces in his shop and the rest are in storage. Every barn and garage and attic in Folies de Grandeur is full with Monsieur Malbon’s things. He took me to a very large old barn near his home, which was crammed with armoires and tables and chairs and bureaus and sideboards and mirrors. That was when we first came here. The last year of francs before we started using euros. A large mirror was marked “25.” Twenty-five francs, about five dollars. I said, “Twenty-five?” in disbelief and he said, “Twenty.
Take it for twenty.” Which I did. It’s over the fireplace in the green dining room.

  I have a red chaise lounge with an old plaid blanket on it in my bedroom, too. A beautiful art deco hanging ceiling fixture. And there you have it. The fireplace wall is paneled, and Graham and I spent weeks scraping layers of paint from it. Every evening I would say, “Oh, hell, let’s just paint it tomorrow.” And every morning we would get up and decide to forge forward because what we had done looked so good.

  At night in this room the old streetlights in front of the Abbey throw a pattern from the shutters across the ceiling. Each window has its own pattern, and they crisscross on the ceiling. If you wake up in the middle of the night it is very comforting to see the beautiful pattern, so unlike any other bedroom I’ve ever seen or slept in.

  And, of course, I have Graham here, also. It is as much his bedroom as mine. In my first marriage, I decorated everything. I was the person who worked in fashion. We had a home that looked as though it might be somewhere in the French countryside, even if it was in New York. Now I am here in the French countryside, and this house looks nothing like the New York one. Graham and I really have similar enough taste that we can create rooms together. He let me have the lavender living room, which is probably pretty girly, but the rest of the house is quite spare.

  This is a good bedroom in which to be in the arms of your lover. I still think of Graham as my lover, even with one child down and another on the way. I think that he has a quality special to him alone of being loveable and full of love at the same time. He is not distracted with a business life or the concerns of most adult males. He doesn’t seem to be particularly concerned with what other men think of him. That is a wonderful quality in a man. I think most men . . . American men at least . . . live their lives for the inspection of other men.

  Of course, the fact that Graham isn’t pursuing power means that he has no real career. He has his beauty, and he has his acting talent, and he is an efficient and capable organizer. But he always seems distant when he is doing those capable things. I’d hate to see him in an office situation. It would erode and destroy all that is wonderful about him. But soon he is going to feel that life is slipping by and all he has to show for it is me. Me and the children. And no one can isolate themselves completely from the regard of the world.

  Hopefully, his working with Toca Sacar and the children may lead us out of this maze. I can hear Theo stirring in his room. I must get up now from my afternoon nap and go back into this world where we are all observed.

  Letters, Calls, and E-mails

  When I came in from rehearsal Nina was sitting at the kitchen table with a letter in her hand. “Out of the blue my mother wants to come visit very soon,” she said.

  “Is that good or bad?” I said, pulling up a chair.

  “It’s good. Only a bit perplexing. I wasn’t expecting her right now. Where am I going to put her?”

  “Wasn’t Freddy going to bunk with Theo?” I said.

  “You’re right. He can sleep in Theo’s room. They are actually good pals. Freddy was here for his Christmas vacation this winter and was carrying Theo about all the time he was here. It’s just so curious that she should want to visit now. I wonder if they are planning something. My mother and Freddy are thicker than thieves.”

  “Where does Freddy live most of the year?” I asked, getting up to fix myself a tea.

  “He lives in New York with his father. He’s in private school there, so he probably spends as much of his vacation time with Graham and me as he does with his father. And my mother is in New York also. He stays with her on the weekends a lot. They’re both baseball nuts, so they go to the games together. My ex-husband is French and couldn’t care less about baseball. I can’t say that I’m exactly fascinated myself.”

  Graham came in from the garden. He had been sunbathing. That splendid physique was bearing a black bikini. I have never seen any of his porn movies, but they must be something.

  “How do you feel about baseball?” I said to him. “Can I get you a tea?”

  “I played baseball in high school. And ‘yes,’” he said. “I played shortstop. I was pretty good. Nothing that would have suggested a professional career. But I liked it. No body contact. Or very little.”

  “We all know about you and body contact,” Nina said. “My mother wants to come visit immediately.”

  I put his tea down in front of Graham. “You should be in movies,” I said. Why did I say that? I guess I had just been thinking about the porn movies. It’s curious about good-looking men. It’s hard to decide if they’re good-looking to everybody or just good-looking to you. And then, beyond that, are they good-looking to the camera? I’m not experienced enough to know all these things. To be good-looking on stage requires charisma and presence. I would liked to have seen Robert Redford on stage. I wonder if he had presence or was just pretty? And that kind of presence doesn’t really count for much in front of a movie camera probably, which is just looking for bone structure. The little acting I’ve seen Graham do this summer he seemed very calm and at ease in front of the audience. And his features are big enough that for a theater audience he certainly is very handsome. Am I developing a crush on him? That’s all I need.

  “I’ve been in movies,” Graham said.

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t be in them again,” Nina said.

  Graham looked at her in a surprised way. “We don’t need money, do we?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Nina said.

  “Should I excuse myself?” I said.

  “Of course not,” Nina said. “Everyone knows Graham was once in the adult entertainment industry. That’s how I met him. I saw him in a video and was determined to have him.”

  “It’s not exactly like that. But she did kind of track me down in her own ladylike way. And who could resist her?” he said, leaning across the table and kissing her. It was really nice to see. Two beautiful people who really liked each other better than they liked other people. Or liked themselves. It gave me hope.

  “Porn means nothing nowadays,” I said. I guess I had to mean it, having just done those photographs with Steve to put the finger on Cass.

  “It doesn’t really pay enough,” Graham said. “Not enough to raise a family on. And your public gets tired of you before your looks go. There’s something about showing your baubles. They’ll wait forever to see them, but once they’ve seen them, the thrill is gone.”

  “The promise isn’t what the baubles look like or even feel like, I guess. It’s more that the promise is the final revelation. Hoping to be loved. We confuse that with sexual paraphernalia,” I said. Where did that come from? Both Nina and Graham looked at me.

  Then I noticed another letter on the table. It was for me. I picked it up and turned it over. It was from my mother.

  “Do you think the stars are in some kind of weird confluence?” I said. “Here’s a letter from my mother. What do you want to bet she’s planning a visit?” Which was exactly the case.

  In the letter, my mom said she had been thinking about my stage career and wanted to see me in something serious. Since I was doing Tea and Sympathy, that seemed sufficiently serious. She and my stepfather were planning to come to France at the end of August to see me. I had just seen them in New York in June so it isn’t as though we are estranged or anything. My mother was my only parent until I was sixteen. She and my birth father were divorced when I was very little. So we are very close.

  I was brought up in Miami Beach. She works in real estate and is quite successful at it. She was a model and is originally from Italy. She has almost no trace of accent, and I always tell her she is more American than I am. She was born to be a modern woman. She’s been waiting all her life for the twenty-first century to get here.

  “So now we have your mother and my mother both coming,” I said. “She’s coming with my stepfather. I’ll go over to the hotel and book them rooms. When your family comes, I can move over to the Abbey and stay wit
h Steve.”

  “That won’t be necessary, I’m sure,” Nina said. “We’re not using the blue bedroom. Theo is in his baby bed in the pink bedroom. Mother can go in the blue, Fluffy into the pink with Theo, and you’re up in the tower bedroom.”

  “We’ll see. I think there’s going to be quite a welter of relatives here,” I said.

  Before we go any further I have to tell you something about my family background. I guess to put it boldly, my mother is presently married to my first lover. She doesn’t know, and I think she should never know. And perhaps I make it sound more extreme than it really is . . . was . . . whatever. My stepfather’s name is Glenn Elliott Paul. My mother and I met him at approximately the same time in Miami Beach. This is the part you won’t like. I was sixteen at the time. My personal theory is that if you’re big enough you’re old enough. Historically, many people were married and having children in their teens. If the average lifespan was 35, my God. You had to get going before your life was three quarters over.

  So Glenn Elliott was boinking both of us there for a while. Sounds seedy, doesn’t it? But Mom never knew, and finally, Glenn wasn’t going to do anything about me. How could he? What were we supposed to do? So I went off to college in New York, and my mother and he got married. It really only works because my mother is such a great person. She’s got the picture on Glenn, who is very handsome, very intelligent, and also sexually a wild man. Or was. I have to believe that he’s faithful to Mom, and if he isn’t, nobody knows anything.