“How do you know each other, by the way? Have you worked together? Are you related somehow?”
“We met in a bar.”
Sam waits for more of an explanation but that’s all he gets.
“Is that the way back?” asks Herbie, pointing to the door he saw Sam come out of earlier. Then, without waiting for a response, he heads backstage.
There are only two dressing rooms, men’s and women’s. Jesus, thinks Herbie as he makes his way down the dingy hallway, why would anybody want to work in the theater after the age of twenty-five? He knocks on the men’s dressing room door and the actor playing Telegin opens it. He’s in his boxer shorts and a T-shirt. Herbie shakes his hand.
“Hi, I’m Herb Aaron. That was wonderful—really great work. All of you—fantastic show.”
“Herbie?” says Bob, who is taking off his makeup at his mirror. “You came tonight?” And out comes the laugh again. The other actors cringe and hurry to get dressed and out of there as soon as possible.
Herbie makes a special point of going over to Alvin McConnell, who plays Astrov. He tells him how much he liked his work— especially a scene in Act Two when Astrov is drunk and ranting. Alvin’s face lights up—he knows that scene was good and Herbie knows he knows it. They talk a little about people they know in common and promise to get together in New York sometime. Then Herbie sits down in the empty chair next to Bob’s corner spot. Bob looks at him like a kid who just scored the winning goal in a soccer game, his eyes lit up with the anticipation of praise. Herbie puts his hand on Bob’s head and musses what hair there is left on it.
“I was good, huh?”
“You were great. Best Vanya I’ve ever seen. Hands down.” “It’s going to get better, you know. Why’d you come the first night?”
Herbie just shrugs.
“Are we going out for a drink?”
“If you want.”
“Like we used to, remember? After the show? And you would tell me what kind of drink I should have, remember?”
“I remember.”
“With Annie.”
“Yep.”
“What kind of drink should I have tonight?”
“Tonight you should have a hot toddy—good for your throat.”
“A hot what?”
“A hot toddy. It’s a…”
“A hot toddy!” And the horrible laughter again. “Will it make me drunk?”
“Probably.”
“You really liked it, huh? I was pretty good.”
“You were fucking amazing.”
“Yeah, I was.”
“All right, get dressed. I’ll be in the hall.”
“You’re going to see Olive.”
“Yeah.”
“She was good, too.”
“She was very good.”
“I kept noticing that when I was onstage with her nobody was looking at me.”
Herbie smiles and nods.
“Yeah, I know. I’ll have to kill her!” And then the shrieking laugh, which propels Herbie out the door and down the hall to the women’s dressing room. When he knocks his hand is shaking.
“We’re all naked. Come on in!” yells one of the women and they all laugh. There’s no relief in the world like the relief of getting through the first audience and having it go well. The ladies’ mood is festive.
“Is Olive decent?” he calls through the door.
There’s a pause.
“Herbie?”
In a moment the door springs open. Olive has thrown a red silk robe around her shoulders that doesn’t begin to cover the fact that she’s in her bra and panties.
“Oh, it’s Herbie,” says the actress playing Vanya’s mother. “The famous Herbie.” And all the girls call out his name like kids in a playground. Olive and Herbie just look at each other.
“I’ve been telling them a lot about you.”
“You’re sensational.”
Tears spring from her eyes. “You think?”
He nods.
She throws her arms around him and he could turn it into a hug, but he holds back. He’s breathless with how good she feels and smells.
“I knew you’d be here.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.”
“There was a lot of new stuff. Today’s rehearsal turned me around completely. It all got deeper and darker. I had no idea what would come out of my mouth tonight.”
“She’s dark and moody and like… shimmering—all at the same time. She’s a dazzler. We never had to wonder why all the guys fall in love with her.”
She falls back into the hug. “Oh God, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.”
“I think everybody’s going for a drink; you okay with that?”
“Sure. Bob wants to come, too.”
“Bob’s going out for a drink? That’s a first.”
“He thinks he can only drink with me. That’s the way his mind works. He’s got all these little compartments in there and they’ve all got their own rules. I’ll wait for you out here.”
At the bar—which is indeed the one Herbie identified on his walk—the acting company is in good spirits. They’ve commandeered a few tables in the back and put them together to make a party. The booze is flowing, the mood is high, and Herbie is the center of attention. He’s a magnet because he’s the first outside person to see the play and everyone wants to hear what he has to say. He changes seats often, moving around the table to speak to each of the actors privately, so that they each get the feeling he’s really seen their work and appreciates it on a professional level. He knows this game and plays it well.
Alice Tipton, who plays the old nurse, can’t get enough of his attention. Whenever he changes seats, she’s right behind him. They knew each other years ago when they were both on the voice-over circuit, before Herbie got hot and went on to TV and films. She’s actually younger than he is but she’s often cast in old-lady roles. She’s also one of those actresses of a certain age who still considers herself in the game, as it were, and the more she drinks, the sexier she thinks she is. Her blouse is low cut and she’s giving Herbie house seats for the show. He’s an appreciative audience and flirts back at her with just enough energy to let her know that it’s all in fun. He plays this game well, too.
Bob has managed to get through half of his hot toddy and he’s drunk as a skunk. He’s slurring his words and putting his face right up next to people and shouting at them. Herbie sits down next to him and puts his arm around him.
“Bobby, can I talk to you?”
“Look at us, Herbie,” he says in a loud voice. “We’re a family! Isn’t it beautiful?” The other actors trade glances. “Wait until the critics get here. They’ll carve us up and then we’ll be like a real family—we’ll want to kill one another!” The laugh is even more detestable when he’s drunk.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
He puts his face right up to Herbie’s and whispers. “What is it, Herbie?”
“I’m a little worried about you. I think you got yourself drunk.”
“Drunk? Well, maybe a little. What are you worried about?”
“You’re going to have a bad headache in the middle of the night and then you’re not going to be able to get back to sleep and you have two shows tomorrow.”
“Two shows? Oh shit, I have two shows. I’m fucked.”
Herbie asks around the table if anybody has any aspirin and one of the girls has Motrin.
“That’ll do,” says Herbie and he helps Bob get a couple tablets down with a glass of water.
“Where do you live, Bobby? I’m going to take you home.”
“No, I’m fine. I can get myself home. I’m not a baby.”
“C’mon, get your coat on. I need some fresh air anyway.”
He tells Olive he’ll be right back and she tells him he’s sweet to do this.
“I’m performing a public service.”
And as if on cue Bob shouts, “I’m drunk!” and he brays out the la
ugh again. The cast stands and applauds as Bob and Herbie stumble out of the bar.
Bob is staying in an apartment about six blocks away from the bar. They take their time, walking arm in arm like the old guys do in Italy when they take their after-dinner passeggiata. Bob is winding down. His performance adrenaline ran dry an hour ago and the booze hit him like a truck. Herbie almost has to carry him. He ain’t heavy, thinks Herbie, he’s my brother. Bob links him back to Annie and that time all those years ago. He was around before Candy was born. Bob sticks—like a fishhook.
Bob stops walking.
“Are you going to have sex tonight with Olive?”
“I don’t know.”
“You really like that stuff.”
“I do.”
“I guess I should do it, huh?”
Herbie shrugs and they walk for a while, each with his own picture. Then Bob pulls up again.
“I have found it difficult over the years to find a partner for it.”
“Pretty basic.”
“Problematic for me.”
They stand there, feeling the cold.
“Are you going to marry Olive?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Why? She’s crazy about you.”
Herbie looks at him for a moment, waiting for Bob’s eyes to focus.
“I’m married, Bobby.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WHEN HERBIE FINALLY GETS BACK TO THE BAR, THE party’s pretty much over. Sam is still there, feeling no pain. He pulls his chair up next to Olive as Herbie takes his coat off and sits to the other side.
“So, you chaps really met at a bar?”
Olive shuffles her chair close to Herbie’s and puts her arm through his. “You got a problem with that?”
Sam shakes his head. He’s got the picture. Finally. “Don’t keep her out too late. Two shows tomorrow.” They watch him tipsily make his way out of the bar.
“Nice-looking fella,” says Herbie.
“Not my type.”
“No?”
“No, I like ‘em old and fat.”
She holds his eyes. Herbie thinks that he could spend a lot of time with this woman. She moves her chair back around the table so that she can look straight at him.
“You’re not drinking tonight,” she says.
“You keeping score?”
“I’m a bartender.”
They smile.
“Okay,” she says, “tell me what you really thought.”
“Of you?”
She nods and takes a deep breath.
“I told you.”
“Now really.”
He tries not to fall into her eyes, which are dark and serious. “Okay. You have unbelievable presence—like star presence. We can’t take our eyes off you.”
“You or everybody?”
“I actually took a moment to check out other people’s faces. It’s not just me. Second, you’re an actor, without a doubt. You’re at home up there; you stand on the stage, in the light, being watched by the rest of us sitting in the dark and you love it. That’s an actor. The rest is tricks.”
“How was the rest?”
He shrugs. “I just tell you what I thought?”
She nods.
“Okay, there were two moments—exactly two—where your acting wasn’t good.”
He sees her stiffen. “Where?”
“You know exactly where. Both times you were showing us what you were feeling instead of feeling it. And they stood out— because, in general, you weren’t doing that.”
“In the first scene,” she says.
“Yep. First entrance.”
“But that’s her showing, not me. That’s Yelena doing bad acting.”
“Yeah, I’d be real careful with that shit. Especially on your first entrance.”
She files that. “Where else? Oh, I know where.”
He nods. “So, enough said. Other than those two it was exquisite; it was seamless. I was never looking at you—only her. Really beautiful acting.”
He watches her face flush with pride because she knows he’s saying the truth. Why, he thinks, is her face so fascinating tonight? Maybe it’s that now he knows her as an actor and he can see more of her, deeper levels, more interesting angles.
“So what’s the story, mister? You gonna make a play for me or not?”
Nothing changes on Herbie’s face; inside is chaos.
“I made my play the first moment I saw you, remember? But that doesn’t mean we’re going to do anything about it.”
“Physically, you mean.” Her serious face is a tease.
“Yeah. It might be a good idea just to keep things the way they are.”
“Annie told me you would say that.” He stares at her.
“But she also told me that if you did say it, you’d be lying.”
“Really.” He’s not comfortable with this.
“She’s here, Herbie,” she says, leaning forward across the table. “She always will be. A person that huge doesn’t just go away.”
He knows this.
“And I thought you liked being with two women.”
If he knew how to blush, he would.
“Tell me about the luftmensch.”
“She told you about that?”
“Only that it was one of your past lives. She said you would tell me.”
“Oh, she did.”
Olive nods.
“If you believe in that shit. Annie always wanted to try everything, so once she heard about this past-life therapist, she had to sign us right up.”
“I looked it up. A luftmensch is like a dreamer, right? A Jewish dreamer.”
“The weird thing is that I don’t think I had ever heard the word before it popped out of my mouth in that session. I mean, maybe I did—subconsciously in some book or magazine somewhere—but I have absolutely no memory of ever having heard that expression—and the moment I was going into the past life—you know, the woman was giving me the spiel about ‘tell me what you see’—all that crap—and it just popped right out of my mouth. I’m a luftmensch, I said. She had no idea what I was talking about.”
“It’s Yiddish, right?”
“Yeah. It means ‘air-man.’ Like a guy who—if he didn’t have heavy shoes on, would just float up and away over the rooftops. The image in my mind was that rabbinical-looking guy in the Chagall painting, floating over the house at a funny angle—like the Tower of Pisa.”
“So what did this luftmensch do—in your past life? Did he have a job or did he just float?”
“No, that was the whole point. He was a teacher—a sort of rabbinical type. He had a school in a beautiful place in the country with green rolling hills and a lake. A school for young women.”
“Ah.”
“Well, they weren’t all young. They were all different ages, I think. This was a lot of lifetimes ago so I can’t remember exactly, but many of them were young. I do remember that. I can picture the young ones.”
“And you taught them… ?”
“I taught them how to discover all the pleasure that was available to them in their bodies.”
“Ah.”
“They wore these long robes; all white; made of a light material that you could kind of see through. And no one wore any underwear of any kind. That was a rule.”
“Uh-huh. And what did the luftmensch wear?”
“Also like a caftan, made of a darker material—a rich woven fabric of many colors.
“Biblical.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Underwear?”
“No. No underwear at this school.”
“And you fucked them all.”
“Well there, you see? Everybody goes there—right to the fucking. But I have to tell you—as a man who has spent many lifetimes in the study of such things—fucking is not always the best way to bring a woman to the highest, most ecstatic states. Nothing against it, mind you. It’s a wonderful thing; makes the world go ‘round and all that, but not necessarily t
he best mode of transportation when you’re going up the ladder to paradise. In fact, fucking is best used as a way to bring a woman back down to earth, as it were, because you can’t live your daily life in a state of extended ecstasy—you wouldn’t get anything done. You can’t drive, for example, when you’re in that state; you can’t shop or anything, go to the hardware store…”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“Well,” he shrugs, “now you can.”
“So the luftmensch wouldn’t get around to fucking them until the end of the session?”
“Yes, often at the end. Or occasionally in the middle. Or every now and then at the beginning, depending on the particular lesson he was teaching that day. I mean he could be teaching the one about knocking off a quickie, in which case…” He shrugs.
“Right. So this wasn’t tiring for you? I mean how many students did you have at any given time?”
“Oh, quite a few—maybe a dozen, but they wouldn’t, you know, work every day. We’d sit in a circle and the others would watch as each girl had her personal experience.”
“Ah, so they’d all watch you.”
“Well, there are many ways to learn, you know. Many different avenues through which the information can enter you, so to speak.”
She looks at him in disbelief and shakes her head. “Herbie, this wasn’t a past life. This is you. Now.”
“No, no, this was long, long ago in a galaxy far away. You could tell by the costumes.”
“Remind me in the years to come—just in case I forget— what a grand and wonderful bullshitter you are. Unbelievable.”
Herbie doesn’t deny it. He watches the color come up in her cheeks and her eyes sizzle like the ocean when the sun falls into it. Pretty good foreplay, he thinks, for a geezer. At this moment he knows exactly how she’d like to be touched and where and at what speed. And he knows exactly what her response will be. God, he thinks, if I had instincts like this for acting I would have been Marlon fucking Brando.
“But it’s not just the sex,” he says. “There’s another side to the luftmensch.”
“To you, you mean. There’s another side to you.”
He shrugs.
“Tell me about the other side.”
Herbie puts his elbows on the table and folds his hands in front of his mouth as if to stop himself from speaking. His face is the face of an old rabbi; he’s quiet for a long time.
After Annie (9781468300116) Page 18
