Acts of Love

by Judith Michael

  Jessica kissed Hermione's cheek and sat straight, freeing herself from her embrace. "Two rehearsals a day, maybe three. We have a lot to learn and we'll go through the play as many times as it takes to learn it all. Also, you'll have to call the publicity people for new posters for the lobby; we need to have them for approval in two days so they'll be ready for the weekend, when people come to the box office to buy tickets. Be sure to tell the house manager what's going on. And call the printing company; we need an insert in the program for Monday: a loose sheet we can slip in.

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  announcing the change, with a short paragraph about me. I'll write that tonight when I get home. And publicity has to get out a press release for Sunday. Not before; I don't want Angela, or anyone else, thinking we're trying to upstage the preview week. Also the newspaper ads have to be changed; you ought to be able to do that with a phone call, but somebody should proofread the new ad. Can you think of anything else?"

  "I'm having trouble thinking of anything but you." Hermione gave a small salute. "To a courageous lady. I love you."

  "No, wait, there is something else. Hermione, what are we talking about.? You know I can't act in Australia; I'm not a member of MEAA. I didn't need to be, as a director, but every actor does. And they're always Australian; you know how protective they are here. How could we even think I could do this.?"

  "If they're famous enough, they can work here. Glenn Close could do it. Bernadette Peters could do it. Jessica Fontaine could do it. But you're right; it's a lot easier if you're a member of the actors union." Hermione raised her wineglass. "I propose a toast. Come on, it's about time you tried this wine." When Jessica picked up her glass, she went on, "To my dearest friend, Jessica Fontaine, who has been a member of Media and Entertainers Arts Alliance for over a month, ever since I took it upon myself to sign her up." She beamed again. "Are you going to join me in this toast or not?"

  "You made me a member—?"

  "Well, how could I predict what was going to happen down the road? It was like taking out an insurance policy. And now it's paying off. Jessie? Are we drinking to this?"

  Jessica touched her wineglass to Hermione's. "Thank you. I know you meant well. Even though you were—"

  "Butting in. You're absolutely right. But I knew damn well you wouldn't do it yourself, so I had to. And it's a good thing I did, because look where we are. About to launch your newest career."

  There was a pause. "Do you know how terrified I am?" Jessica asked.

  "That's okay, at least for a while."

  "I told Lucinda that scared was okay but terrified wasn't."

  "She's not in your shoes. Anyway, you'll get over it as soon as we get to work."

  "I never got over having stage fright."

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  "Then my guess is you'll have it again. It is not on my list of things to worry about."

  "What is?"

  "I have no intention of telling you. It might disturb your concentration. Now I have a suggestion. Let's have a quick dinner so we can get to the theater, and afterwards come back here and talk about everything in the world but work. It'll be our one small break before the next few days, when we are going to eat and sleep and breathe this play. What do you think?"

  "If we can do it."

  "Of course we can."

  But they could not. They went to the theater, where Angela gave one of her best performances before an enthusiastic audience, and came back to Hermione's house talking about the weather and assorted uninteresting topics until they stepped into the living room and at once began talking about the play. They talked for hours, until Jessica said she had to go home. "I don't know if I'll sleep, but I ought to try."

  "Pretend. It's almost as good as the real thing."

  Hope dashed rapturously around her when she came in, and because the rain had stopped Jessica took her outside on her leash instead of letting her into the small yard. They did not walk far, but it felt good to be out and moving, even slowly, even limping. The sky was still overcast, the strange yellow-orange sky of cities at night, and she thought of the velvety blackness of Lopez, with the stars clustered thickly and brilliantly above her house, and the Milky Way a scattered path from horizon to horizon. My safe haven, she thought. And now everything I do takes me farther away from it.

  For years she had been sure she was doing the best thing, choosing solitude, staying away from the stage. How could she be sure that what she was about to do now was the best thing?

  She sat at the dining room table with Hope curled up at her feet and began to write the insert for Monday night's program.

  The role of Helen has been assumed by the American actress Jessica Fontaine, who is also the play's director.

  Jessica Fontaine has appeared previously with the Sydney Theater Company in All's Well That Ends Well and The

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  Crucible. In America, England and Canada, she has starred in Anna Christie, The Country Girl, How Green Was My Valley, The Importance of Being Earnest, Mrs. Warren's Profes

  She stopped writing, and read over the list of plays. So many triumphs. These plus another two dozen. All of them triumphs, for her or for her and Constance. The two of them had dominated the American stage until Constance retired, and then Jessica dominated it herself, with one great success after another. How could she think of presenting herself to an audience as that actress.!^ "Fraud!" they would cry. "She's not Jessica Fontaine. She's a fake. Who's she trying to fool.''"

  She put her head in her hands and sat for a long time. Finally she went to the kitchen to make tea. Constance, I need you, she thought as she waited for the water to boil. I need wise words from someone who knows as much about the theater as I do, and who knows me. I need someone who knows what I once did, what I might do again.

  Constance had written about working through fear, she recalled. It had been in a letter written close to the time she died. It shouldn't be too hard to find.

  The water boiled and she poured it into the teapot, then went to get the box of Constance's letters. On the way, she passed the fax machine. A letter was waiting for her.

  My love, this will be short, but I'll write again soon. It's after three in the morning; I've been sitting in a bar talking and drinking Scotch — I never drink Scotch except when I'm excited about something — with an actor who may be the male lead for Kent's play. I saw him in a play at the Westside Theater and in five minutes I w^as pretty sure he was what Monte and I are looking for. I'd seen him before, but Kent's script made me think of him in a new w^ay. You'd like him: he's got a deceptively easygoing style that barely masks a terrific amount of tension. Audiences love him (I've seen the play three times).

  We buried Claudia yesterday. Monte, Gladys and I were the only people there, other than a minister w^e found, who, of course, did not know her and talked about her as if she were an

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  anonymous woman who died in a vacuum. It "was one of the saddest days of my life. I remember there was a short time, years ago, when she talked about bouncing back — she liked the image, as if she were buoyant, airy, untethered — and finding herself, or maybe a new^ self. I wish I could have helped her do that. I wish she could have found her own way to do it.

  The snow is gone, the tulips are up, I miss you. All my love, Luke.

  She went back to the dining room table. It was not Constance she wanted, or letters. It was Luke.

  Luke, I'm going to play Helen in Journeys End. I'll explain it all later, but right now I need someone with me Desides Hermione; I need you. Could you come to Sydney? Could you come right away? Jessica.

  At seven o'clock the next morning she was at the theater with Dan Clanagh and Hermione, sitting at the desk in Helen's living room on the turntable closest to the audience. Barely paying attention to their breakfast of coffee and croissants, they began to reblock the play, diagramming everyone's movements so that Helen's we
re reduced to a minimum and the others' were changed to bring them into her orbit. Jessica was tight and nervous as they began to read lines that led to specific actions. Dan and Hermione read from scripts; Jessica spoke her lines as if she were already Helen. "This would have been a good idea, even with Angela," Hermione said, watching Dan, taking Edward's part, move around Jessica. "It makes Helen much more central; it enhances her own attitude of self-importance. We should have thought of it earlier."

  "Angela would have loved it," Jessica said with a smile.

  "It would have scared Lucinda," Dan said. "Too heavy of a burden."

  Hermione and Jessica gazed at him in bemusement. "Do you have us all analyzed and categorized?" Hermione asked.

  He gave a small, wicked smile. "You can't stage-manage people if you're being taken by surprise all the time. You need to be ahead of everybody."

  "But you never make suggestions," Jessica said.

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  "You never asked."

  She nodded. "Okay, what do you think about my playing Helen?"

  "Terrific. You don't feel superior to her—which Angela did—and you're not afraid of her—which Lucinda was. You'll be great."

  Hermione and Jessica exchanged a look and burst out laughing. "How simple everything is," Jessica said. "Thank you, Dan. That means more to me than almost anything." They went back to work and by ten o'clock they had finished the first two acts, and were putting their diagrams away as the cast and crew arrived for rehearsal.

  Edward went to Hermione and stood close to her, crowding her. "Angela is leaving and no one can find Lucinda." He looked slightly rumpled, and the folds in his face seemed to have deepened into permanent depression. "Everything is falling apart."

  "Give me some space," Hermione said tartly. More gently, she said, "I'll be delighted to answer all your questions, but first I have an announcement. Angela will be with us through Friday, the last night of previews. Lucinda has been asked to read for a major part in a new production in Melbourne, and that is where she really wants to be right now and I would not stand in her way."

  "She's gone?" Edward cried.

  "What the hell," Whitbread exclaimed. "I mean, what the hell!"

  "She told me," Angela said. "Does that mean you're canceling opening night?"

  "We can't," Nora moaned. "We have to open. We can't let it die, not after all this work."

  Hermione waited patiently. "We open Tuesday night; that hasn't changed. What has changed is the person playing Helen. That will be Jessica, who has graciously consented to—"

  "Jessica!" Edward turned a frenzied look on her. His eyes slid to the cane propped against the desk. "How?" he asked bluntly.

  "We always appreciate expressions of support," Hermione said drily. Ignoring Edward, she spoke to the others. "This is what we're doing—"

  "Hermione, this should come from me," Jessica said. She stood beside the desk. "Six years ago I left the stage. I'd been in an accident and afterward I looked so different, and felt so different, that I thought I'd never act again. But it's not easy to leave the theater when it's been your whole

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  life for most of your life, so I came back, to direct Journeys End."

  "And did it brilliantly," Hermione said. "But Jessica Fontaine belongs on the stage. I knew that only a great actress could replace Angela, and that's why I begged Jessica to do it. And thank God she said she would. Does anyone have any problem with that.''"

  "I think it's absolutely wonderful," said Angela. She engulfed Jessica in a hug. "I was worried about Lucinda . . . not terribly strong, you know ... no real sense of self. . . but now . . . well, Hermione, you do understand how much alike Jessica and I are. It's a very wise choice."

  Hermione nodded modestly.

  "What about the cane?" Edward asked.

  Nora sucked in her breath; none of them had dared mention it.

  Hermione began to answer, but Jessica put out her hand. "We're re-blocking the play. Helen will stay in this small area and you'll be moving in and out of her orbit. In other words, you can't assume anymore that she'll come to you with a lead-in to a line or to open the way for some stage business. You'll have to do that yourselves. We're figuring it out now and by the weekend we'll be rehearsing it."

  "Tomorrow," Edward said. "We need all the time we can get."

  "We're all professionals," Hermione said. "We'll have the weekend, plus Monday, Monday night and Tuesday morning if we need it. That's a lot of rehearsing for three people who by then will have performed this play for more than two weeks."

  "You're all so good," Jessica said, and thought briefly that she and Hermione were like a vaudeville team, tossing their routine back and forth. "You've all gotten better and better—I've never seen so much progress in two weeks—and I'm sure we'll be ready for Tuesday night. I hope I come up to your level; you're all very fine."

  "Well, my goodness," Nora said. "You're the one ... I remember that day you took all our parts ... Jessica, this is very exciting. It will be an honor to work with you."

  "We'll give you our best," Whitbread murmured, raising Jessica's hand to his lips. "Good actors are always prepared to surmount the unexpected."

  They all looked at Edward.

  "Edward, are you prepared to surmount the unexpected?" Hermione asked.

  "I don't like risks—this is incredibly foolhardy—but I don't see that

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  we have any options. I can only hope that those of us who have so much to lose will—"

  "Not lose it," Jessica said evenly, wondering what she had ever seen in him. "I think we all have a great deal at stake here. Thank you all for your support. Now the schedule. We'll still rehearse every day during previews, at ten o'clock. On the weekend and Monday we'll start at eight. The new blocking will be ready tomorrow; you'll get diagrams to take home to study before Saturday. If you have questions or problems with my work, or anything that involves direction, and you're uncomfortable coming to me, talk to Hermione. We all want to succeed."

  After that, the cast rehearsed until one o'clock, then scattered for the afternoon. Hermione and Jessica ate a quick lunch at the outdoor cafe on the lower terrace of the Opera House, not talking much, gazing across the water. The day was cool and they did not linger. "Time for your hair," Hermione said, and led her to Sistie's Salon.

  "Nice hair, good texture, good body," Sistie said as she lifted and let fall strands of Jessica's hair. "Hermione said you wanted blond. Very light, with streaks.?"

  "Yes," Jessica said.

  With a broad paintbrush, Sistie painted Jessica's hair in small sections that stood up like rays of the sun until she combed them all down, tight to her head. Jessica looked in the mirror at her thin, drawn face, its deep lines even deeper without a frame of softly curling hair. In the bright, unsparing light, she looked stark and ugly. "Wait," she said, tensing to stand up. "Hermione, I can't—"

  "How about a manicure?" Hermione said loudly.

  "We could do that," said Sistie. "You'll be sitting here for twenty minutes anyway, and Amy is free right now." She picked up Jessica's hands and inspected them. "Definitely a good idea."

  Two hours later, when they left, Hermione was jubilant. "I knew it, I knew it. What do you think? You were very polite to Sistie, but do you really like it? It's very good, Jessie."

  "There isn't much difference, is there?" They reached her car and she looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Far better than in that awful moment when her hair had been plastered to her head, but still . . . "It's a nice color, but I don't really look any different."

  "You look younger. Believe me. Now wait until we get to makeup."

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  "I'll look so young I'll be sent back to kindergarten."

  Hermione hesitated as Jessica pulled out of their parking space. "You're not happy about this.?"

  "I'm okay. It's just going to take some gett
ing used to."

  "You will. I'd guess it will take about fifteen minutes. Do you want to go somewhere for coffee?"

  Jessica shook her head. "I'm going home to study until curtain time. I thought I knew this play, but I'm finding all sorts of little things I'd never thought of."

  That night, after the performance, she rushed home and almost tripped over Hope as she hurried to read the letter that would be on the fax machine. But there was no letter; the tray was empty. And it was empty the next two nights as well. He never got my letter, Jessica thought, gazing at the silent machine as if she could will it to life. The housekeeper misplaced it when she was cleaning the library. Or it fell on the floor behind a chair. Or his fax isn't working. Maybe he's out of town.

  Or maybe he hasn't written because he doesn't want to. He's decided that he isn't about to come running when I finally get around to asking him. Why should he, after all the times I told him I intended to make my way alone, without clinging to him?

  No, she thought. I don't believe that. Not after his last letter. And she picked up the telephone and called him.

  There was no answer. Not even a tape recorder on which she could leave a message. They've all disappeared. Lut^e and Martin and the housel{eeper.

  She slammed the telephone down. It served her right, she thought. She'd do it alone after all.

  She took Hope outside and limped behind her as she sniffed her way up and down the block. When they went back, the house felt hollow, like a shell. It was as if she had populated it with Luke when she wrote her letter and now that he was not coming it seemed emptier and quieter than ever. But I do have Constance's letters, she thought as she changed into a robe and went to the kitchen for tea. And Hermione. Manipulative, domineering, crafty, scheming, and absolutely wonderful. And she loves me. That's more than most people have; it's all I need.

  On Saturday morning, the cast o^ Journeys End began rehearsals for opening night. There had been a party the night before, to say good-bye to Angela and to celebrate a sold-out week of previews, with one power-

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  fully good review by Gregory Varden that had brought lines at the box office. But they could not celebrate success, because no one had seen the play that would open on Tuesday night. With Jessica in the lead, everything would be different and the critics would forget everything they had said and start from scratch, prepared to sneer, not only because she was famous, but also because she was American.