Edwina said, “I don’t know if sex is supposed to be fun. But it certainly should be emotionally stirring. And it definitely should not be painful.”
And with that we withdrew from the table and our party swept out of the restaurant.
Kitty Bids Adieu
Now I must leave. Strange, when you get to be my age you can leave without regret and arrive without anticipation. I have perhaps lived to the point where what I have learned about the world begins to be unflattering. More and more, people seem to be like trained monkeys. What is it Steven Sondheim called Ethel Merman, “The Talking Dog”? Something like that. They are programmed, either by birth or by their environment, most probably a combination of both, and they cannot be dissuaded from their courses. I suppose that was what Freud was all about. Trying to help people step back enough from their own personalities to at least see what the course was they had set out upon. And then to help them alter that behavior. Rare. So rare. I don’t know that I have ever observed that happening.
The noble thing about acting is that it can only be done alone. So many enterprises are team activities. But to learn a role, to learn a song, to learn a dance, that is something you can only do by yourself. And, true, you may be performing in an ensemble, but each performer is like a planet, slowly revolving about one another. There is no one who can rescue you if you have not prepared. You are the sole commander of that little spaceship, you. And you alone know how well that spaceship has negotiated its passage about the stage before reaching the safety of the wings. It makes for great self-sufficiency. And it constantly instructs that you are alone, you are alone, you are alone. There may be others to be of solace or comfort or to distract in the wings. But for a stage person, real life is there upon the stage and there you are eternally alone. Lost in the stars. It is probably a great preparation for death.
And now I must go to sleep as tomorrow I depart for New York and leave this French village behind. Because of this festival, there are probably more lone travelers in this small town than there are in most communities of this size. I wonder if I communicated any of this to these young people this summer? I hope so.
The Deed
“Can we say you’re just another little whore?” Cranston Muller said.
“Really, Mr. Muller, I don’t think we should start out this rendezvous on that note. I’m really not that much in the mood to begin with.”
Cranston Muller and I had just entered a suite at the Château Menaudiere that he had rented for the day. I had arrived in a taxi from Cornichons. He was already there. It was Sunday, and there were no rehearsals.
The suite was that Louis Fifteenth thing that luxury hotels love to do. Dark blue velvet, long white curtains, wall-to-wall carpeting which I think none of the French kings ever saw.
“Take off your clothes,” Cranston said, lounging in a curved-legged and carved chair by a long desk. He was smoking a small cigar, and I could tell he was nervous. He must have gotten the dialogue from some movie he had directed.
“Take yours off,” I said, sitting down on the side of the bed and shucking my sandals. I wasn’t wearing any socks, but my feet were clean.
I knew you’d want to know whether I slept with Cranston Muller or not so I thought we might as well just jump right into it. I’ll go back and fill you in on the details later. But, in brief, the lead up to it went something like this.
I arrived at the theater for Tea and Sympathy rehearsals, and I was early. Cranston was already there. He took me by the arm, he’s quite strong, and sat me down in a chair in the middle of the stage. “I’ve got to talk to you,” he said. “You know that I’m doing a new version of Giant. Now Nicole Kidman wants to do the Elizabeth Taylor part. She’s too old, but who am I to say no to Nicole Kidman? E. L. Losada was my choice for the James Dean role. We’re not sleeping together, but he’s a great little actor, and who knows, after the production he might feel grateful and I’d get lucky. But I don’t want to do that anymore. I want you. You’re not as good an actor, but I have to score with you, kiddo. You’re something beyond acting.”
“Sit down, Mr. Muller. You’re making me feel intimidated,” I said. It was true. He was looming over me, redder in the face than usual, in a real bully pose. “I’m not going to sleep with someone because I’m afraid of them.”
He pulled up the other chair that was there on the stage.
And then it occurred to me. I knew what I had to do. “I will sleep with you, but I want that part to go to Graham. Graham Grant, that’s his professional name. I don’t want it. Graham is perfect. He’s great looking. He can really act. He’ll look better and more convincing with Nicole Kidman.”
“Are you crazy? I don’t want him. I don’t want to sleep with him. I want you.”
“And you shall have me. But that’s the deal. Graham really needs a break like that. I don’t want it. I just decided. I don’t want my life to go in that direction. What about E. L.?” I said.
“He’s going to take over your role in this play. I have to do something for him. I’ve already told him.”
“So whether I sleep with you or not, I’m out of Tea and Sympathy? There really isn’t any reason for me to be here then, is there?” I stood up. “Just let me know where and when. I think I’ll start calling you Cranston now that our professional relationship is over.”
“This has moved along so rapidly I’m somewhat at a loss for words,” he said.
“That’s probably a first,” I said. “Keep me posted.” And I walked out. I passed Estelle Anderson in the door.
“What’s happening?” she said.
“You’ve got a new leading man,” I said.
A note came in the mail for me from Cranston inviting me to have lunch at the Château Menaudiere, which is just outside Charlestour, on the next Sunday. I stopped him in the street and said I didn’t want to have lunch, but I would be there at two. And, voilà, there I was.
“What do you think?” I said. “Should we get on the bed or in the bed? I think I’ll get into the bed. It’s a little less awkward in among the sheets.”
I dropped my pants and tee-shirt on the floor. Pulled off my underpants, and pulling back the coverlet, climbed in. There were a lot of pillows. It was all very Madame de Pompadour.
Cranston stood up and started unbuckling his belt. For all of his aggressiveness, I don’t think he had been through a lot of this kind of scenario. I want to go on the record also that physically Cranston wasn’t bad. He went to the gym. He was tan all over, which I was soon to find out. He had a nice penis. He was sort of hairy, but that happens when men get older.
My thinking was this. I wasn’t really committed to Steve. He hadn’t asked that we be. And we weren’t at that “couple” stage yet. But I could feel it coming. At least I was ready for it and wanted it. But until then, I could sleep with Cranston Muller and not feel guilty about it. If I was sleeping with Cranston Muller because I wanted to and would enjoy it, that’s another story. But I had a different reason for doing this. That’s my thinking at any rate, whatever you might think.
Cranston was already barefooted when I entered the room so once his pants were off, he had only to unbutton his shirt and remove his boxer trunks. He did this half-turning away, almost shyly. I noticed that his jacket was already hanging over the back of the chair.
Sex is funny, isn’t it? It’s always different with every person. Not that I’ve slept with all that many men. But it’s not routine. You wonder about all those gay guys who pick up men in bars and go to bathhouses and all that kind of thing. Surely they must notice that everyone is different. Or does it all become one big blur of flesh, flesh, flesh with no personalities involved?
Cranston was already erect when he came across the room, pulled back the covers, and climbed in. He put one leg and one arm over me and started to kiss me. I didn’t expect that. He was a tender kisser. Weird, isn’t it? I think he felt something for me. His body was warm. His breath didn’t smell of those cigars. He had nice ski
n. His back felt good. Strong. I pressed back against him. “I have to get in you,” he mumbled.
“Do you have lube and a condom?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
I reached under the pillow. I had put them under there while I was undressing. “I do,” I said. “Just a minute. I want to put a pillow under my butt.” I raised up, opened the condom and put it on him and rubbed lube between my buttocks, lifting myself onto the pillow. I would have liked to put a towel under myself, but there’s a limit to what you want to do under circumstances like these. The Château Menaudiere would just have to be shocked later. Cranston eased himself in.
He wasn’t a quick study. At one point, I was off the bed with my shoulders and head on the floor, Cranston’s arms holding him off the floor as he bucked up and down on the edge of the bed. “This is really uncomfortable,” I said. He pulled me back on the bed.
And then I came. I surprised myself. I shuddered and twisted my head back and forth violently. It was a powerful one with lots of deep groanings. Cranston stopped his moving and held me very tightly. Then he kissed me and said, “I was waiting for that.” And then finished up very quickly, dropping onto me with some groans of his own as he slid his hands under my ass.
Then he rolled off, and we lay there, not touching.
“So now Graham is going to get a movie,” I said.
“You bet,” he said.
“Isn’t it curious how paths cross, small incidents occur, decisions are made, people’s lives change,” I said.
“Chance is a fool’s name for fate,” he said.
“The Gay Divorcee,” I said. “Edward Everett Horton’s line. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. 1935?”
“Is it in that? You’re quite a little treasure trove of film information. Who’d have thought you would know that? I hardly know it myself.”
“Film school,” I said. “Chance or fate? Like the Brazilian who was shot in the Underground by the police in London last week. Just because he had dark skin they run into a subway car, pump seven bullets into his head, and then realized he had nothing to do with anything. It was his fate somehow. There was probably some woman who lived across the street who liked him and he had refused to sleep with her, and so she called the police and said she thought they were terrorists, and bang. There he went.”
“It could happen to any one of us at any time. You’re sitting in the park minding your own business and a coconut drops out of a tree and your life is over,” Cranston said.
I sat up and threw my legs over the side of the bed. “Now I must go,” I said.
“I’ll take you back,” Cranston said.
“No. I had the cab wait. I don’t want anyone to see us together. I’m supposed to hate you because you replaced me in the show with E. L. Let’s leave it that way.”
“Does Steve know you’re here?” Cranston asked.
“Definitely not. Nobody does. I told everyone I was having a late lunch in Charlestour with the Flambaughs, that American couple I know from down near Loches.”
Cranston reached over and touched my shoulder. “You’re quite something, Hugo. I could fuck you again right now.”
“No, you couldn’t,” I said. Actually I wouldn’t have minded. I stood up and found my underpants under the bedside table. My shirt and pants were in a heap. I pulled them on.
“I’m counting on you to keep your word,” I said. “If you don’t, I’m going to kill you.” I seemed to be threatening to kill people all over town these days.
“To quote Fagin in Oliver Twist, ‘The worst sin is ingratitude.’ I’m very grateful for your having shared your body with me. I will keep my word,” Cranston Muller said.
“Now I really must go.” I was dressed by now.
“Thanks, Hugo. That was a really good fuck. A twelve,” he said. He was dressed now, too.
“The nice thing about sexual intercourse is that it doesn’t leave any marks. I’m always going to deny that this ever happened,” I said.
“It shall be done. Graham gets the part.”
“Thanks.” I closed the door behind me.
The First Hint of Autumn
There was a big storm last night and many branches have been torn out of the trees. Now I won’t be doing Tea and Sympathy, Graham should get the movie, so perhaps nature is joining me in shifting gears, moving on, entering a new phase of life.
The air feels different. I went for a walk this morning. I woke up earlier than usual. And you could feel that there was something changed. Did the storm change the ions in the air? It was clearer, crisper, not summery at all. Time to put on tweed jackets, stride briskly about, regret nothing, eyes facing directly ahead.
Estelle sought me out after the rehearsals that I walked out on. She came to the house and sat in the living room. She said, “I want you to understand, Hugo, that not doing this play may be a disappointment, but it will have no effect on your career at all. None. I repeat, none. I don’t know what Cranston is thinking of. I suspect that I know very well, but then again, perhaps I don’t. And it certainly is not necessary for us to discuss it. You have something, Hugo. I don’t know if it could be called acting ability. But when you are onstage, people want to look at you. Even the people onstage with you. That is not a common quality. It’s up to you to decide what you want to do with it.”
“My only real disappointment is not having been able to do the play with you, Estelle,” I said. “I would have learned so much.”
“That is undeniably true,” she said and laughed. “I don’t know that I’m such a remarkable actress, but I do know all the tricks of the trade. You can come study with me once we’re all back in New York. I’ll give you a scholarship.” She came over and hugged me very close where I sat on the big ottoman. She smelled delicious. Je Reviens, I think. “I Will Be Back.” What better motto to face the future? I went for another walk. I didn’t particularly want to see Steve. For the moment, I wanted to walk into this time of my life by myself.
Nina Thinks About It
I was pushing Theo about in his stroller this morning, and we had to dodge a lot of fallen limbs from the trees that were blown about in the big storm last night. Everyone was out complaining and sawing and piling, and it didn’t seem catastrophic to me. Only natural.
Nature provides the big storms to knock down the dying limbs. The weak parts of the tree. Just as there are forest fires so nature can rejuvenate itself. And there used to be famine and plague and sweeping illnesses so that the less strong parts of the human race were cleared away.
I was on safari once in Africa and saw a mother lion with three strong cubs following her, and at the end of the line a fourth cub that was about half the size of the others. Very adorable, of course, in his struggling to keep up. I realized at the time that his chances of growing up were slight. And mother and siblings had no feelings of giving the littlest one any special care and attention.
So there we have nature, sprawling forward, cleaning itself up, with no feelings about those parts of it that can’t keep up the pace. And then we have human beings, the only part of nature that seems to have the capacity to care for one another. Is that because we are the only part of nature that can step back and look at ourselves? Our brains having developed more in us? So we can be horrible in the destruction of each other and also go to enormous lengths to help people in wheelchairs, Siamese twins, the disabled of every kind. There is a sense of duty to help the frailer keep up with the stronger. Where did that come from?
If we are each a cell in some kind of übermind . . . some kind of overmind . . ., are we the part being designed to confront nature? Love in itself seems to be a kind of contradiction of nature. But there are some animals in nature who team up for their lifetimes. Penguins? Strange, isn’t it? No wonder we often feel that we are a mass of contradictions. Strange that humans may be on the front edge of a defiance of nature. I must talk to Edwina about this. She would understand.
A Visit to Chambord
Toca Sacar a
sked me if I wanted to help him with Ten Little Indians, and I said “no.” There were no more classes in the last week of the theater festival. All the children I had been teaching were preparing for their play. And I didn’t want to help. Screw them.
As I was no longer going to be in Tea and Sympathy, I had nothing to do. I could have gone back to New York except that Steve had a small part in Tea, and I didn’t want to go back without him. I also didn’t want to leave Cornichons until I was sure that Cranston Muller had offered the role in his next movie to Graham. I trusted him, but then again.
So I was extremely available when Nina and Graham asked me if I could take Graham’s cousin and her friend to the Château of Chambord. I couldn’t refuse. I had never been to Chambord and we could stop and visit the Château of Cheverny on the way. I had been there. Lots of dogs.
Graham’s cousin Darla hadn’t been in town for all The Red Mill excitement. She arrived Monday after we closed.
Darla looks very much like Graham. Darla is tall, not as tall as Graham but tall, blonde, has his profile. As a woman, she makes quite an impression. She had not gained weight, as Graham was afraid she would, but looked very athletic. Working with horses and riding all the time obviously keeps her in shape.
What no one expected is that she would arrive with a friend. Sharon Ann. Sharon Ann is of medium height, medium brown hair, mediumly overweight. She’s a medium girl. And doesn’t want to mingle. They have a room at the hotel and have been doing lots of visits around the countryside themselves. Out to the riding stables at the edge of Cornichons. To the village tennis courts. Over to the big outdoor pool at Charlestour, which also has a little beach on the Cher River. Right beside the pool. I took Theo over there once to teach him to swim. He’s not at all afraid of water.
I picked up the ladies at their hotel at about ten in the morning. They were waiting out front. Sharon Ann got in front with me and Darla got in the back. We bounced off across the fields.
Love in the Loire Page 24
