Pushing Upward (27 page)

I'd hit a nerve, I saw, without meaning to. So I rushed on: “The Bodhi Tree has tons of books on this topic. I'll take you there, whenever you want to go. It's a beautiful store, with all kinds of books on past-life experiences and near-death …”

I was babbling because I felt helpless and couldn't think of anything to say that might ease her loss. And for the first time, I saw a tear drop onto her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. She stood up without saying another word and went to her room. I waited until she closed her door, and then I went into my room to return to
my
dream.

The bedroom had now become a barometer, a psychic measuring device that would assess my state. There would be nights I'd be so angry that the room was so small, so filled with Josef's things—pictures hanging on every wall, leaning against bureaus, stacked in corners—that I felt suffocated and wanted to tear them down. Other times, I'd feel so expanded, so content to lose myself in the colorful, animated scenes, especially the painting of the pale beach and the brilliant sun reflecting on the aquamarine water. Or I'd pretend to be any one of the figures in his paintings. I would enter their world, reach into their personae, and lose myself. But tonight there was no need to escape anywhere. I had plenty of colors on my own palette to create my own painting.

As I dreamed myself back into Allen's embrace, all this love welled up inside me … and all that love filled the entire room.

Chapter 23

The superior man sets his life in order
And examines himself.

Chaos reigned during the final weeks. Rehearsals raced by. It was a pressure I hadn't experienced since the year I spent in college, during final exams, when every minute, every second, had to be accounted for, and there was no time to waste on incidentals or pleasures. No time for TV, movies, or dates; only studying, cramming, and lots of stimulants, mostly caffeine. There might have been a few uppers—after all, I did live in Detroit. The only difference now was that the cast of characters was older, and we weren't being graded—at least with letters. Our grade would come the day after opening night when the public read the critics' reviews.

Life was intense at the Windmill Theater. But we all knew the sacrifices we made today would lead to our growth as actors, future opportunities, and a deep feeling of satisfaction. At least these were
my
objectives. Still, the cast of
The Turning of the Century
complained about having to come in early and leave late. They missed their families. Free time. A life.
I
missed the possibility of sitting on a couch with Allen in front of a fireplace, drinking wine and watching the sunset, taking long walks and holding hands, dancing beneath the stars. Just holding him and being held would be enough.

To top things off, an incident occurred that really set us back. Bob Driscoll, the man Bill and I thought couldn't act worth beans, the man Allen thought was slowing the production down, was fired. The cast had to take turns filling in for his role while Allen looked for a replacement. After interviewing several actors, he hired Kevin Hawthorne, a Broadway understudy who was, luckily for us, a
quick
study.

It was now a Friday, and we were all looking forward to a relaxing, replenishing weekend. I was looking forward to having dinner with Allen. It was our scheduled date night. But before leaving the theater, he made an announcement: “I was going to call a rehearsal for tomorrow. But I have to go to New York. You've got a two-day respite. Just don't make any plans for the following weekends; we're going to need them before opening night. See you Monday at nine.”

At least we had these two days to relax. Everyone said their good-byes and took off. I went to my dressing room to prepare for our dinner date. The one Allen had promised the night he walked me home. Although he had postponed it once already, I was anticipating being with him tonight—big-time.

I was prepping—brushing my hair, sprucing up my makeup, and studying the newly formed zit on the side of my nose—when there was a knock on the door.

“May I come in?” Allen asked in a hushed voice outside the door.

“The door's open,” I stage-whispered loudly back.

He stepped inside, came over to the dressing table, and sat down on the edge of it. “I know we were supposed to have dinner tonight. And I feel awful that I have to postpone this again. I wish this meeting hadn't come up, but I have to leave tonight.”

“That's fine.” I was feeling cocky. I put down the brush and stood up to reach for my jacket.

He grabbed my arm, gently. “Look at me. I'm as disappointed as you are. You have no idea how much I wanted to be with you tonight. Can we make it next week?”

I couldn't look at him. I turned my head from side to side to avoid his eyes. I didn't want him to see how disappointed I was. I wanted him to blow off his meeting, spend the night, the weekend, the rest of his life, with me. Tears were standing in my eyes, unbidden. I walked toward the door, opened it. “You don't want to be late for your flight, do you?”

He met me at the door. “If I didn't have to go, I wouldn't. This may be an offer to direct a film that I have been waiting a year to negotiate. I can't miss this, no matter how much I want to be with you. You can understand that, can't you?”

He turned off the light and pulled me close. We kissed.

“Believe me,” he said, “There isn't anyone else I want to be with.”

We kissed again.

“I believe you.”

The jolt of disappointment, after the anticipation of being with Allen, left me hollow. As I got into my Fiat, I wondered why my life had to filled with these severe ups and downs that were so devastating and exhausting.
I'm constantly riding on this emotional roller coaster and can't seem to get off. I just wish the ride wasn't so intense
.

It was also intense at home. It felt like I hadn't seen Emma in I couldn't say how long. I'd come home after she'd retired for the night and leave before she got up. I had no time to clean or cook, sit with her and talk, share a smile, or laugh at her sardonic comments. We used to spend hours together, and now I was rushing in and out, treating her apartment like a hotel. We hardly spoke anymore. There was a chasm opening up between us. But what could I do? My life was moving incredibly fast. Time to share it just wasn't there. When I was home, I was memorizing lines, not just for one character, but for two. Exercising, eating, sleeping. I hadn't even told her about Allen. Not that I really wanted to. Because I knew how she'd respond. Emma seemed to be crawling into a shell, getting quieter and quieter. Once again I was at a precipice, and not quite sure how to proceed.

On my way home, I pulled into Renée's Deli. I thought I'd surprise Emma with a deli dinner we could both enjoy: some turkey, salad greens, and a few slices of Monterey Jack. Hoping the small gesture might soothe the wound of our distance and make up for the time I'd been away. There was a bouquet of flowers sitting by the counter in a bucket. I bought them, too.

Bearing gifts of food and good news—the weekend off—I burst into the apartment, where I saw Emma sitting in her chair, on the phone; I couldn't make out with whom. It wasn't Bert or Zelda. I could tell by the way she responded. As I unwrapped the food and got the mustard and mayo out of the fridge, I listened from the kitchen, to get a hint of who might be on the other end of the line.

She cut the conversation short: “It was wonderful to hear from you, Jackson. I'll see you tomorrow. Good-bye.”

Who is Jackson?

“Hi, Emma.” I jumped right in, wanting to set a cheerful tone. “I stopped at the deli and picked up some dinner.”

“I've already eaten, dear.” Her words cut into me, even with the word
dear.
“Thank you.”

“Sorry I got here so late …” I went on nervously, hoping she'd forgive me again. “We had a long rehearsal today.”

My stomach felt queasy from her abrupt response and the unstable ground I was now trying to stand on. I peeled off a few slices of turkey, rolled them into a cone, and dipped them into the mustard jar. The silence, thick with her secrets, made my mouth dry. I poured some juice to wash the turkey down.

Emma sat in her chair, pretending to read a magazine, pretending nothing was wrong or out of the ordinary. Trying to feel her out and think of something to say, I put the groceries in the fridge, and the flowers in a tall porcelain vase.

“Oh, Emma, Allen—the director—gave us the weekend off. How about going to a museum tomorrow?”

“I'll be going out with my friend Jackson tomorrow.”

I was glad she was going out, visiting with friends. But again, it was the way she said it. Like a defiant schoolgirl! Something was up. Something was off. I brought the flowers into the dining room and placed them on the table.

I tried again. “Have I
met
Jackson?”

“No. He's an old friend from New York. His niece is in town. He wanted us to meet.”

“Well, how about we go to the farmers' market on Sunday, pick up some groceries?” If only she'd agree, saying that it was a lovely idea.

“I'll probably rest on Sunday.”

“Oh, okay.”

I didn't know what else to say. I was afraid to dig any deeper. I stood there looking at her, hoping she'd open up and declare: “Let's have a chat. How was your day?”

It didn't happen. She stood up, holding on to the arms of the chair. Her shoulders set, she walked toward her bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door.

Chapter 24

With the complex of events immediately before one in image form,
one could follow the courses that promised good fortune
and avoid those that promised misfortune,
before the train of events had actually begun.

I woke up edgy and angry. My eyes were a graphic witness—red and blotchy, with huge, puffy bags. I felt as if I'd wrestled a band of boa constrictors in my sleep. My neck was stiff, and the lower part of my spine ached. But my body was not my concern. There were more pressing things to think about.

Emma.

I could only guess that she was mad at me for not being around, not sticking to our agreement. As I reached over to pull the curtains to one side, let in some light, I knew the one important thing that
had
to be done today was to clean. Something I hadn't done in weeks.

I forced myself out of bed, pulled out a pair of jeans, scooped up a T-shirt from the closet floor, and carried the clothes into the bathroom. I stripped off my pajamas, turned on the shower full force, grabbed the Comet from under the sink, and stepped in. I scrubbed the porcelain tub until the faintest ring had disappeared. I removed the hair from the drain and rinsed the dried, cakey soap from the soap dish. I removed the shower curtain from the rings and bleached the curtain until all the disgusting mold spots were gone, and then, still naked from the shower, I poured Mop & Glo on the bathroom tiles and sponged the floor, wiped down the cabinets, sprayed Windex on the mirrors, and brushed out the toilet.