Little Did I Know: A Novel (47 page)

“Jojo, can you have everyone in the company, the crew, and the pit on stage, please? Everyone. No one works. We are all going to talk, if only for a few minutes.”

The entire population of PBT found their way to the stage.

Jojo offered me the god mic but it was unnecessary. What I was about to say didn’t need any artificial amplification; I knew everyone was going to listen even if I spoke in a whisper.

“Hi guys,” I said. “You are all amazing people. You have so much courage. I’m certain if I opened you up I’d find the hearts of lions and the souls of angels. I know many of us came here this summer to experience the work and take on challenges we hadn’t faced before. I also know that ASK came to spend time with Janet, and look how that’s working out!”

ASK blushed and accepted mock congratulations from his friends. Janet leaned him over her thigh and kissed him on the mouth for at least a full minute then dropped him on the stage floor like a rag doll.

“You see? Miracles do happen. When ASK regains consciousness, you can ask him. We have what we have and what we have is pretty great. I just had you see it for yourselves. But I’d be lying if I said everything else in this show is that ready, that good. So we all stand here, in this moment and wonder . . . and, well, unfortunately we won’t have our answer till the band plays the exit music a few hours from now. But that’s cool. In fact, I find it all a bit titillating. But then again, I find most things titillating.”

I took the measure of the others in this foxhole with me. They looked good, even happy. I continued. “So this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to remind ourselves that Namath beat the Colts, and that the Mets won the World Series, and that Willis Reed hit those first two shots on one leg and the Knicks beat the Lakers. We’re going to think about all the stories we’ve heard about people coming from out of nowhere and winning the race, getting the job, or saving a life. We’re going to play the game, the whole game, all out till the whistle blows. The best news for us is that we can. We’re here and we can.

“Hundreds of people would change places with any one of us in a heartbeat, but none of you would let them. The people coming here tonight don’t know we ran out of time and never ran the show. The only people who have that information are you. I don’t think you should tell anyone, and furthermore I don’t think they will ever know. You guys are like a newborn baby. Everybody wants to kiss you because you are so fucking cute. Don’t show any fear.”

Jojo raised her hand. “We have no curtain call. What are we doing for bows?”

“In a minute,” I said. “Two things first. First, when we break, I don’t want any of you to think about the show. Take a nap. Take a run or a swim. Have sex. But don’t think. Eight o’clock will be here fast enough and you can reenter this orbit in a half hour.

“Second, some of you are aware of this story and some of you aren’t, but I think it’s worth quickly sharing. In a previous life I was a jock. I wasn’t always a theater geek. In fact, I had a full scholarship to play big-time football, but days before I was supposed to leave for school I was in a really bad car accident and couldn’t play ball anymore.

“Some guy had fallen asleep at the wheel and hit my car at more than a hundred miles per hour. My car flipped over and went through the divider. It was hit again by a car going the other way and rolled over several times. One of my friends in the car was thrown hundreds of feet from impact, but when the car finally settled it had somehow landed on top of her legs. I was knocked unconscious, but when I woke up I heard her screaming. I was fucked up myself. I had split my head open and was stuck in the windshield bleeding from cuts that took hundreds of stitches to close. I heard her shouting, and somehow I got to where she was, and in one motion, with the one arm that still worked, I picked that car up off of her and tossed it away like Superman.”

It was a good story and it was true.

“Then I passed out, of course, and woke up in the hospital. The human mind and body can will us to do practically anything. Adrenaline is a wonderful elixir and a cure-all for when we have no idea what to do next. Tonight, use it. Trust yourselves. Flip that car over. And when the bows are finished, then and only then can you pass out at the hospital. Okay?”

Gravely, everyone tentatively nodded their assent.

“Good. Now, as to the bows, we don’t have time to stage them, so this is what we’re going to do . . .”

I
washed up in the scene shop sink and headed outside to meet my parents. I found my father alone, seated on the white bench under the dogwood tree. He was doing that thing where he rubbed his forehead with the middle and index fingers of his right hand. When he did that;, it always meant he was agitated. His expression confirmed it.

“Dad, are you all right?” I asked.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine,” he replied.

“Where’s Mom, Aunt Rene, and Uncle Morris?”

“They took the Hockmans out for supper. No one was sure you’d be available and they needed to eat.”

“Of course, I understand. It’s been quite a day for me. We have time for a beer if you’d like.”

“A beer? You were supposed to have dinner with my employer. You know, I just took this position a few months ago.”

“You took a job, Dad. It’s a job.”

“Samuel, we all drove up to see you and you’ve been too busy to see us.”

I always knew when he called me Samuel that the conversation was heading down a dark road. “I was doing my
job
, Dad. I was handling the responsibilities of my
position.”

“Don’t be glib with me.”

“I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for not being available. Veronica told me you were all having fun and I shouldn’t worry.”

“Missing time with your mother and me is one thing. And you have no time? None whatsoever? How would you feel if the situation was reversed?”

“I would like to believe I would understand. You always told me to be busy. ‘Go kill the people.’ Am I supposed to do that on Bill Hockman’s schedule? I didn’t know I was working for him as well.”

“That’s enough. This whole thing is embarrassing for me.”

“What whole thing? What are you talking about? You’re this upset because I’m busy, because I’m behind schedule. What’s that about?”

He did the thing with his fingers on his forehead and then got up from the bench and walked a few steps toward the beach. When he turned around he practically ran at me.

“It’s not about being busy or behind schedule. Your mother and I talked you up and this show tonight is going to be a disaster. How could you let that happen?”

I got up as well and went right at it with Dad. He was a large man but I was four inches taller, and due to the slight grade where I stood, I appeared to tower over him. “You think my show is going to be a disaster? How do you know? You been working it, Dad? Been in rehearsal giving notes . . .?”

“Samuel, you haven’t even had a run-through. That’s what your girlfriend told us. Bill was very upset that he drove all this way to see what is really just a rehearsal.”

“Hey, fuck Bill Hockman. I think he’s a dirtbag, and I don’t like the way he treats you anyway. Also, my girlfriend has a name. It is Veronica and she has been nothing but nice to you.

Maybe this would just end somehow, the lights would go out or someone would streak naked across the compound.

“Bill’s limo drove him up here,” I added. “I remember you telling me he doesn’t drive himself anywhere since he got so fucking rich.”

“I can’t let him see something that’s bad. It will be embarrassing for both me and your mother. How can I explain it?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Explain it? You think you have to explain me? Hey, am I only worth showing off or showing up for if I’m winning? You thought the show was pretty good the other night, didn’t you? Why don’t you and Mom come back when the reviews come in? This way if they’re bad you can just stay home.”

“We have a lot invested in you this summer. It’s unreasonable for you to be so defensive.”

“I’m not defensive, I’m angry. What do you have invested? Money? Time. Some fatherly advice? You bought us a hat? Send me the bill. You think I’m not worried about tonight? I’m a goddamn mess. I haven’t slept in three days. Veronica—my girlfriend—told me that Rene and Mom were making the bars rich in town last night. Maybe they’ll just pass out during the overture and when they wake up we’ll tell them what a good time they had.”

“Listen, Sam, you want to play in a big casino like this one, then you have to deliver or face the music. You can’t have important people come and see shit.”

“Whoa. What important people? Bill Hockman? He’s important? Not to me he’s not. To me he’s just a big fat Jewish slob who makes the world anti-Semitic. And don’t give me platitudes about casinos and shit. How much does a chip cost up here? What’s the ante to play in my life? If you only wanted to see me win, then read the box score before you buy a ticket. Oh, and by the way, your tickets were comped. You’re embarrassed? Well, I’m ashamed. You tell me what you’d rather be.”

Maybe it was the surprise of the whole confrontation, or my fatigue, or genuine shock that my dad was actually saying these things to me. Whatever the cause, my eyes welled with tears and my lip started to tremble. I began to cry, slowly at first, and then with big sobs that made my shoulders heave and snot run down my nose. I walked quickly behind the theater to the north side and out of sight from the patrons and the entire compound. I cried for a few minutes and then began to compose myself. I wiped my nose on the sleeve of my T-shirt and rubbed my eyes until they were dry.

Rather than return to speak with my dad, I looked down at my clipboard and the dozens of notes I had yet to address. It made me feel worse, and I felt like I needed to punch something or hurt myself. I stared at what until an hour ago had been important insights and I did so for a long while. Now they meant nothing, a big blur like an eye chart held too far away.

I stood for a moment, motionless. I thought about smashing my face against the elm a few feet from where I stood, but I didn’t want to hurt the tree. At last, I ran around the side of the building and saw my father drive away.

I went to the box office and told Diana that if the seats in my parents’ name weren’t picked up by curtain she should sell them to the first people on the waiting list. Then I walked slowly toward the elm. It seemed the right thing to do.

I
went to my room and changed into more presentable clothes. I told Veronica what had happened, and although she had no suggestions, it was nice to have a sympathetic listener. I checked the box office at 8:15 p.m. Even before I asked, Diana told me my folks had picked up their reservation for six tickets and paid cash; Debbie had seated them in the third row. I peeked in the house and was relieved to see them reading their programs. I felt less anxious.

Veronica and I went to the balcony and stood against the side wall. We could see the stage and much of the audience, so we had the option of watching the crowd or the performance itself. There was a pleasant animated opening night buzz in the house. This was our fourth and penultimate debut. We were like a team on the way to a pennant. We were a hot ticket, and the disparity in audience anticipation between our first opening and now was a real compliment to our hard work.

I was really just a stupid kid. I was trying my best to do something of note, and it had gone well so far. But eventually people booed everyone, even Joe DiMaggio. Skills eroded or expectations failed to be met, the tide turned, and you found yourself swimming against the current. Would we pull a rabbit out of the hat tonight or would the pep talks end up as just talk and nothing more?

Every seat was taken and we had standees downstairs. The house lights went to half and then to black. The show started, and I held my breath. As had happened that afternoon, the first eight minutes dazzled and won the house over like Ann Margaret and Jayne Mansfield visiting the troops in Vietnam. I exhaled and took another long breath, held it to see what would happen next.

Buoyed by the success of the opening, the cast plowed ahead with a fragile confidence. They got early laughs and found their light. The scenery moved and the show played, spinning out like a novel in galley form. There were errors and typos, but the story worked and the author was forgiven. We dropped lines and took errant crosses that made the staging seem skewed. Nevertheless, everything was played with such joy and panache, and a challenge to those watching that said, “Find a reason not to like us, we dare you.”

Act 1 flew by. The songs were performed with more verve than the scenes, but as each page turned the company knew they were pulling it off. They gathered momentum and the audience simply ate them up. No one seemed to notice the errors in blocking or the scenery that arrived a beat too late. Some sang sharp or came in on the wrong count, and lyrics were reinvented when someone’s mind went blank. It mattered not. We had climbed a mountain, afraid to look down along the way for fear of falling hundreds of feet to our death. As the first act ended, though, we were in the lodge at the top of the hill drinking hot cocoa laced with expensive brandy. Veronica held my hand so tightly through the first sixty minutes that when the curtain came down and she let go, my fingers were numb.