Other than those minor issues, I had no problems with my mother.
We hung up. I felt relieved to have that conversation over with. We didn't talk much about Diana's suicide, and I suppose we were all in our own private torture chambers of guilt. But my guilt had to be different from theirs. And I felt anxious over what they would perceive of Melanie's wrath towards Julia. Maybe it would offend them. Maybe it would make them want to disown me. I'd pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind so I could write it all out, but I still didn't want them to see it. Not yet. Not until I'd seen it work in front of an audience of strangers.
And now, with the questions Kelly was raising, I really didn't want them to be there scrutinizing it.
I started out again, but the phone rang once more. This time it was Peter.
"Hi," he said, "I'm calling from the theater."
"Something wrong?"
"No. I just want to know how you're doing."
"I'm okay. Thanks."
"Don't let Kelly get to you."
"Do you think her problem," I couldn't resist asking, "do you think there's any validity to what she says?"
"No."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"I think she's totally off the mark," he added.
"Why do you think she waited so long to speak up? And why does she suddenly think she's Miss Literary Critic?"
"She wants to make trouble."
"But why?"
"Because," he said wryly, "she's turned into Julia."
"Oh my God." A smile found its way to my face. "You're right."
"And that's exactly what we want."
After we hung up, I felt a wave of optimism. Maybe this fuss had nothing to do with how the last scene was written. And her behavior was a positive development, inevitable and necessary. Kelly was embodying Julia, and everything was falling into place!
I knew that I shouldn't assume this scenario was true. But in the theater, Hope Springs Eternal.
Kelly was late, no surprise, for the dress rehearsal. And when she did finally arrive after forty-five minutes, she didn't even have the grace to pretend to be flustered or apologetic. Peter looked to her for an explanation but she gave none. She just said, casually, "Oh, fuck, you know what? I forgot my costume for the first scene."
My sister had risen from the dead.
I could see Peter tense up, but all he said was, "We're already behind schedule. Let's start."
Kelly looked at him with a vixenish smile. "Whatever you say."
Then she smiled at me. I gave her a big smile right back. Yes, this was part of her "process" of embodying Julia, which meant she was feeling quite superior to us all right then, and none of us were worth her time or effort, and if she'd just listened to her agent she would have a paying job on a soap right now. Yes sir, she was too good for us. Well too bad, I thought. That's what older sisters are for.
"Places everyone," Carol announced, "we're ready to begin!"
Unfortunately the lighting and the sound person were now missing. Carol found them out in the hallway, leisurely returning from a coffee run having gotten used to the idea that nothing was going to happen right away, and just as she was calling them in Peter came up behind her and yelled, "Get your butts in here!"
So now everyone was in a sour mood.
The houselights dimmed, the lead-in music played, the actresses took their places on stage, the music faded out and the lights came up. Peter and Carol watched from the first row. I watched from the back row. The actresses said their lines and moved around on stage. But something was, of course, wrong.
Kelly was up there saying the lines, but she wasn't acting. The performance, if you can call it that, was affectless. If anything, she reminded me of a sullen teenager who's been told she has to spend time with her nine-year-old cousin or she won't get the car Saturday night. Okay, I'll say the lines, but I'm not going pretend like I care about them. I squirmed in my seat. Seemed like she was taking this "embodying my sister thing" too far. Could this behavior be fallout from our bedroom encounter? I couldn't take that thought seriously.
Peter let them go on. The point of the dress rehearsal was to give everyone a chance to run through the play without interruption. This was especially important considering they hadn't succeeded in doing that yet. So I knew he didn't want to stop them. But as the first scene came to a dismal end, he stopped them.
"Please start from the beginning again," he said. "And Kelly, could you please put some feeling into it this time?"
"I thought I was," she said.
"I think we should go on," Annie said. "I need to do it beginning to end without stopping—I need to do that."
"We are doing it again," Peter insisted. "And we will do it until Kelly starts to act. I don't care if we're here all night."
So Kelly continued with her nonperformance. Annie, with nothing to play off, gave a bad performance too. And I couldn't help but think that this play was dull. Dull, dull, dull. Talk, talk, talk. Who cared about these two people? Certainly not me.
Peter didn't stop them this time. He didn't say anything. He was probably sitting there ruminating on why he hadn't gone to Hollywood to direct movies. Maybe he was deciding to go right then and there. He was thinking about who would sublet his New York apartment. Where he could buy a cheap car. What old friends he could look up. Who would let him crash at their place until he found his own. Sure, he "loved the theater." But at least they pay you to suffer in Hollywood.
It got worse. When they finally got to the (dreaded) last scene, Annie segued into lines from the second scene by mistake and Kelly went along with her so that it was like a game of Chutes and Ladders and we all had to go back near the beginning and work our way to the end all over again. I kept waiting for Peter to stop them, but he didn't. He was probably amusing himself by debating whether to look for an apartment in Santa Monica or Studio City. Direct movies or TV. Sign with an agent or stay freelance. Carol was madly flipping through the pages of the master script trying to figure out where the hell they were, and I was considering coming out with a totally uncharacteristic shriek at the top of my lungs (with my hair standing straight up on end) when Annie finally stopped the farce.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm totally lost."
She looked at Peter hopelessly.
He said nothing back.
"Where do you want us to start, Peter?" Annie asked.
Still he didn't respond. Kelly stood there silently, innocently, enjoying every second of how badly this was going.
"Peter?" Annie said, now getting downright desperate. "Should we go back to the beginning of the last scene?"
Peter didn't speak for a few moments. Finally he said, "You know what?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not worried. And you know why? Because I'm not going to be sitting here tomorrow night. I'm going to be in the bar down the street having a nice cold glass of beer!" And then he stood up. From the first row riser, he loomed down on them. "But you two? You two are the ones who are going to humiliate yourselves in front of an audience full of people!" This was not, ideally, what I wanted him to be saying. She was getting to him, and he was cracking.
"Fine," Annie said, and turned to Kelly. "Kelly? Let's just do the last scene, okay?!"
"I don't see the point. The last scene doesn't work."
"Okay," Annie said, trying to remain calm. "Let's talk this out. Tell us again what your problem is. We can figure it out."
"Since when are you the director?" Kelly said.
"You're still having trouble with being the ghost, right?" Annie persisted. "So maybe you should just forget the idea that you're a ghost. There must be some other way to approach it."
"You know, I feel like I can't breathe right now." Kelly took a long drink from her water bottle, gathered her things, and started for the door.
"We can talk this out," Annie pleaded.
"I have to get out of here."
"But you can't leave!" Annie followed her to the door. "Tomorrow is opening night!
We haven't even done the whole play through yet!"
"And you know what?" Kelly yelled, throwing the water bottle right past Annie's head, "I don't give a flying fuck!" The water bottle hit the wall and fell to the floor.
And she left.
And we all looked at each other.
"Jesus Christ," Carol said.
"Are you okay, Annie?" I asked.
"Yeah. Good thing her aim isn't too good. This is fucked. I need to rehearse. She can't do this!"
"She just did," Peter said.
At first, I didn't feel as panicked as I might have, because I knew that all sorts of stupid, annoying, outrageous things happen at rehearsals, but only what happens in the performance is important. And I knew she could do this part. More than ever. I mean, she was now a living, breathing Julia. There was no reason to think she couldn't pull it off tomorrow night.
If she showed up.
What is it they say? Ninety-five percent of being successful is just showing up.
And then I realized that she actually might not show up. After all, that's what my sister would've done. She would've found something to be so pissed off about and she wouldn't have shown up. Isn't suicide one really big way of never showing up again?
Not that I thought Kelly would commit suicide. I just thought she might not show up.
"I'm gonna talk to her," I said.
"Jennifer, stay out of it," Peter said. "I'll call her later."
"No," I said. “She can't do this."
I ran after her having now idea what I might say. I just knew I had to say something, and that something would have to come to me before I caught up with her. So I ran, hoping to find her at the elevator, but I didn't see her in the hall. She probably took the stairs. So I took off down the stairs too, and ran through the lobby out onto the street. There—I saw her up the block just about to turn the corner, and I ran after her. By the time I reached her by the next corner I was out of breath.
"Kelly! Stop! Kelly!"
"Not interested," she said, and didn't stop walking.
"We have to talk."
"I have a headache. I'm going home."
"Stop walking and listen to me!" I yelled.
She stopped walking.
"What is it?"
We were standing in front of a sofabed store with an incredibly garish display of a living room set done in tiger skin and brown leather. People were walking by not really noticing us, but it wasn't exactly private.
"Can we go somewhere less public?"
"I'd like to get home, Jennifer. If you have anything to say just get it out."
She looked at me and waited.
"I don't want you to perform my play," I heard myself say, "if you can't do the ending the way I wrote it."
"I can do your ending," she said. "I just don't think it's any good."
"You're imposing your vision onto mine. It's not right."
"Are you firing me?"
"I'm telling you to do your job. Say the words I wrote."
"I'll say your words," she said. "But I don't believe in them."
"That's not good enough."
A crowded bus pulled up to the curb.
"For the audience or for you?"
"For me!" The back doors of the bus opened, and people started pouring out.
"Well get over it, Melanie!" (We both heard her make the slip, but she didn't bother to correct it.) "Because it doesn't matter if I think your play gives a fair and accurate portrayal of your relationship with your sister. The play has to stand on its own. For all of us who don't know anything about you and your fucked-up childhood."
A woman passing by gave me a look.
"I'm not the one bringing my own personal garbage into this situation."
"Oh, really?"
"The last scene of the play isn't the problem here. The real problem is the fact that you're jealous."
"Of?"
"The fact that Peter wants me and not you."
Right then, I wouldn't have been surprised if she’d morphed into a fifteen-foot-tall fire-breathing dragon, picked me up with her fangs and threw me across the street into the window of the Banana Republic. But she didn't. She just looked at me for a moment with surprise, and then a smile gradually blossomed on her face.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'll do your little play the way you want. Now just run along home and get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow's a big day for you."
With that, she headed on up the street.
"My 'little' play."
I hated her right then. But not as much as I would hate her later.
Chapter 11
The next morning, I was in such a mental state I couldn't stand the idea of being alone. Even though it was only eleven in the morning, I wandered over to the theater hoping someone would be hanging around. It was a weekday, and it was odd passing through midtown, seeing everyone going about their business like a regular day. A regular day of rushing around to their jobs, rushing to buy things, rushing with such a great sense of purpose. I walked through Macy's just for the hell of it and walked past the men's shirts and ties and the cases of watches and jewelry and makeup and purses and got sprayed with perfume and came out the other end back onto the street. The world of commerce was chugging along just fine despite the fact that this was opening night for my play.
When I got down to the theater Carol was there. I was happy to see her. She was sweeping the stage, lucky her, with a job, with a purpose!
"Hi Carol!"
"So, the big day has finally arrived."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"You could make sure there's toilet paper in the bathroom."
"Okay. Where do you keep it?"
"I'm just kidding. That's not the playwright's job."
"I don't care."
"You are desperate, aren't you."
"Anything to keep me busy."
"You know what? Peter's out getting the programs from the printer. When he comes back, you can help fold."
"That sounds perfect. How is his mood?"
"He's in a great mood."
"He is?" I went up on stage and looked down on the empty seats.
"Came in this morning happy as a clam."
"Are clams really happy?" I asked, sitting down on Melanie's bed.
"What?"
"How do they know that clams are really happy?" I lay back on the bed and looked at the lights clamped onto pipes running across the ceiling. It would not be good to have one of those fall on your head. "I mean 'clamming up' isn't really a happy thing."
"He did have some interesting news. There was a message this morning on the answering machine. Rocco Shorenstein made a reservation."
I sat straight up. "You're kidding." He was a big Broadway producer. Too big for us, really. "Why?" I asked.
"Why what?"
"Why would he be coming to this two-character drama? He does musicals. British imports. Star vehicles."
"Beats me."
"Wow. Well. That puts a nice little extra pressure on everyone, doesn't it."
"Makes you wish we'd gotten through the whole thing once without stopping."
"Yep."
And if Kelly hadn't gone off on her little hissy fit, we'd be in much better shape. Oh man oh man oh man. Rocco Shorenstein was coming to see my play.
"I don't know if I should hope he comes or not," I said, getting the dustpan and holding it out for her.
"Don't worry. Half the time they make a reservation they don't show up." She swept a pile of dirt into the dustpan.
"Or they just send in an assistant who writes up a report."
"And it gets filed away."
"And that," I said, dumping the dirt into the garbage pail, "is that."
Just then Peter came bounding in, all cheerful and light.
"Good morning! Did you hear the great news?"
"Good morning, yes I did."
"Rocco Shorenstein. Isn't it great?"
"How did you pull this off?"
"I know someone who works in his office. Been trying to get him to come to my stuff for years. You see? Persistence pays."
"Does he have to come opening night? I mean, it sure would be better if he could wait till they have a chance to, you know—"
Carol finished for me. "Do it once without stopping."
"You can't control the world of theater," Peter said. "Too many competing egos. Just have to go with the flow. Who'd like to fold some programs?"
"I'd love to," I said. "It will help calm my nerves."
"Relax, you have nothing to worry about."
"Other than the play being a disaster," I said, taking a stack of the glossy pages.
"You're being negative again, Jennifer."
"Just working my magic."
"You don't have to work any magic. Everything is going to come together tonight."
"How can you believe that?"
"I just do. I have every confidence that it's going to be great tonight."
"But what about Kelly?"
"Had a long talk with her last night. Everything is cool."
"She's okay about the last scene?"
"Uh huh."
"What did you say to her?"
"I said what I had to say. The crisis has passed."
We started in on the programs, not speaking for the moment. I didn't read them. Seeing my name in print made me anxious. But folding them in neat halves and then smoothing them down flat had a very placating effect. I didn't want them to run out.
The phone rang and Carol went to get it. "Hi Annie. Yeah, he's here, hold on."
Peter took the phone.
"Hi Annie, what's up? Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh. Okay. Well. That's fine. It doesn't sound like it should be a problem. Right. Right. Right. Okay. Fine. Good. Congratulations. See you later." He hung up.
"What now?" I asked.
"Annie got a job."
"A job?"
"A job."
"What do you mean?
"One line on Law and Order."
"When?
"Today."
"Today?
"Today. One line. They're paying her six hundred fifty-five dollars. She felt she had to grab it."
I stood up. "I'll pay her six hundred fifty-five not to do it!"
"Come on," Peter said. "She can't turn it down. It's a good credit. And it won't be a problem. They've been shooting since seven this morning. And they've told her she'll be done well before five."
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