CHAPTER NINE
A Difficult Set to
Light
The next Wednesday
was the opening night of the new production by the Lenox Ensemble.
I’d spoken with Iris once since the last time I saw her, and the
days leading up to the premiere had been predictably chaotic for
her. We were probably on the phone for ten minutes, though I don’t
think I actually spoke with her for more than two of those. About
halfway in, I could almost guess when the next midsentence
interruption was going to occur.
Other than the sound
of the carpenters, the store was very quiet. In addition to the
usual midweek slump, there had been a perceptible decline in sales
since the water damage occurred. Since my father didn’t keep
detailed reports of his revenue stream, it was difficult to know
whether this was because of the merchandise that wasn’t available
in the back of the store or because of the environment created by
the contractor. Though I usually stayed until the early evening and
sometimes even closed the store, it had become clear to me that my
presence wasn’t necessary during the trough of the week. Faced with
the option of another catatonic dinner in front of the television
with my parents or a drive to surprise Iris, I chose the
latter.
I had dinner in
downtown Lenox before going over to the barn. While I ate, I read a
copy of the local paper, the Berkshire
Eagle, skipping through the national news to get a better
sense of the community. There was so much going on here, and there
was a brimming sense of anticipation for the approaching summer
season and the performances, festivals, and fairs that would
accompany it. I found a small article about the premiere by the
Ensemble. The artistic director had several quotes in the piece,
and though I’d never met the man, his voice came into my head with
the intonation that Iris gave to her own voice when she spoke about
him.
I hadn’t wanted to
risk Iris seeing me at the box office, so I waited until just
before the curtain to get a ticket. This nearly backfired on me, as
I bought one of the last three seats and would have missed out
entirely if I’d had that second cup of coffee. While this left me
sitting in the very back of the theater and I chided myself for the
folly of committing to four hours of driving without securing a
seat first, I was impressed that the Ensemble could fill the place
with a midweek opening before the official start of the
season.
The production was
the world premiere of the latest work from Miller Citron, a New
Hampshire play-wright who’d begun to generate regional attention
for his earlier dramas. His previous play had in fact gotten
excellent notices for a version staged in downtown Manhattan. Iris
had told me that she expected it wouldn’t be long before Citron
opened a play off-Broadway, and there was even talk of taking this
work there.
The play, titled
The Last Week in October, was about a
couple in Martha’s Vineyard closing down their small inn for the
season. As the play progressed, however, it became clear that what
they were actually in the process of closing down was their
marriage. The writing reminded me of Edward Albee. It was acerbic
with a deep core of cynicism, yet occasional flashes of romance and
charm elevated it and made me care about the people on the stage.
The two lead actors gave nuanced performances, balancing anger,
disappointment, sadness, and longing without ever allowing any one
emotion to dominate. The small handful of other players was less
accomplished. The best friend was too consciously sympathetic, the
lawyer too openly flirtatious. Having heard so much about the set
designer, I was especially interested in seeing how he dressed the
stage. It was spare, offering the suggestion of a country inn
rather than the depiction of one, using muted colors with the
occasional touch of a vibrant red.
The play was very
powerful. It moved me and caught me up in its complexities. At the
same time, I remained aware that Iris had helped bring this play to
the stage and I felt a strong surge of pride at her involvement.
When the audience applauded appreciatively at the end, I couldn’t
help but think of how Iris received that appreciation.
One of the guys I’d
seen at Iris’ office on my visits recognized me and let me
backstage afterward. The entire area was a swirl of motion. A
couple dozen people either milled or darted and others made their
way in behind me. I saw Iris moving quickly from one end of the
room to the other and I called to her. She stopped and turned in my
direction. For a moment, her eyes opened widely in obvious (and, I
hoped, pleasant) surprise, but then her brow furrowed and she put
up one finger to indicate that she was in the middle of doing
something else. She headed toward the far corner of the room. I
didn’t want to crowd her, but I took a few steps in that direction.
Doing so allowed me to see what she was dealing with. The male lead
and the man who played the best friend were exchanging heated
words. I couldn’t make out all of it, especially when others in
front of me began to comment on the proceedings, but it appeared
that the lead felt this was the appropriate time to question some
of his fellow actor’s choices. His subordinate took exception to
this. Their verbal sparring quickly descended to profanity and
name-calling. An actor I’d admired just minutes earlier now seemed
petty. I wondered if there was a history between the two or if
perhaps the lead had a reputation for belittling his
fellows.
There seemed an
excellent chance that things were going to come to blows,
especially when one actor put his hand on the shoulder of the
other. But then Iris intervened. She said something sharp but
sotto voce to the lead actor and he
responded to the comment by briskly turning his back to her and
walking off in the other direction. Iris then put her arm around
the other actor’s shoulder. The man was obviously having trouble
regaining his composure and he gesticulated harshly for a minute or
two before Iris turned him toward her, patted him on the chest, and
calmed him down.
This fire doused,
Iris started walking in my direction. Since she hadn’t made eye
contact, though, it wasn’t clear whether she was actually coming to
see me or not. She didn’t get particularly far. The director
intercepted her about fifteen feet from me.
“Can you believe the
incompetence of those lighting people,” he said.
“It wasn’t that bad,
Art,” Iris said in response.
“Not bad if this were
dinner theater. The audience must have been cringing from all the
gaffes.”
“Most people probably
didn’t even notice. I only saw a couple mistakes
myself.”
The director drew
back from this comment. His body language suggested that Iris’
statement had diminished his estimation of her.
“Don’t give me that
crap, Art,” Iris said. “You knew it was a difficult set to light
and you knew that we were going to have to make certain
compromises. Did they do a great job tonight? No. Did they do it
appreciatively differently from what you agreed to in the last
rehearsal? No.”
“Pardon me, Iris, I
thought you cared about excellence as much as I do. It seems I was
wrong about this.”
“Art, is there any
chance you might consider the possibility that you’re a little too
close to this?”
“A director can never
be too close to his work.”
Iris glanced off in
the other direction and waited a beat. She was obviously trying to
avoid saying something that would escalate the situation. “We’ll do
a run-through of the scenes that you think need to be corrected
tomorrow afternoon. I’ll set it up.”
The director sighed
theatrically (which I suppose was appropriate) and said, “See what
you can do. Right now, I need a scotch.”
He walked away and
Iris stood in her place for a moment, staring off toward the back
wall. I was about to approach her when she started walking away.
Someone stopped her and congratulated her on the production and she
smiled and offered thanks. While she was doing so, she glanced up
at me and I could tell from her expression that she had forgotten I
was there. She said a few additional words and the man walked away.
Her face dropped as she turned to me and took a few weary
steps.
“Congratulations?” I
said warily.
She shook her head.
“What a disaster this was tonight.”
“I’ve gotta tell you,
it didn’t seem like a disaster from out there.”
“Trust me; I know a
disaster when I see one. This was a classic. Theo delivered his
lines like he was on Seconal – and Walt nearly punched him out
because of it. Art thinks the lighting director should never work
in this town again. The reviewer for one of the local papers had to
beg for his tickets because there was a screwup at the box office,
and even the ushers botched their jobs. Sounds like the definition
of the word ‘disaster’ to me. Do you have a better
one?”
“Under the
radar?”
She dropped her head
and took a deep breath. “Did you like the show?”
“I loved it. I really
did. That guy can write. And Walt might be an asshole, but he’s an
excellent actor.”
Iris’ face relaxed a
little more. I’d never seen her this tense before. “Yeah, he is.
And yeah, he’s definitely an asshole. I don’t know how someone who
is that much of a jerk can show so much tenderness
on-stage.”
“That’s why they call
it acting, isn’t it?”
“I guess it is.” She
looked toward the back of the room and I could see her shoulders
stiffen. When she turned back to me, though, she smiled. “I had no
idea you were going to be here tonight.”
“Spur-of-the-moment
thing. I wanted to see what your opening nights were
like.”
She gestured toward
the rest of the room. “Now you know. It’s a glamour
profession.”
“Hey, not everyone
gets to have their chains yanked by artists. Some of us only get
carpenters and real estate brokers.”
“I feel so much
better now.” Whatever had concerned her in the back of the room was
continuing to bother her. She looked in that direction again and
her eyes remained there for several moments. She turned back to me
and said, “Listen, I’ve gotta get over there. Art is talking to the
Eagle, and considering his state of
mind, he could wind up saying anything. You’re going to stick
around for a while, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be
here.”
Iris moved as if
snapped from a bungee cord. I went to get something from the buffet
table. This scene didn’t exactly mesh with the one I had in my mind
while I was driving to Lenox. I’d envisioned a small cast party
with champagne and erudite banter and me standing by Iris’ side as
she celebrated. Most specifically, I’d envisioned Iris seeing me
backstage and hugging me close as she thanked me profusely for
sharing this important moment with her. I’d imagined that I might
even get a chance to toast her privately at a bar later in the
evening.
Instead, I hadn’t
even gotten a kiss on the cheek.
The crowd thinned
over the next twenty minutes. I milled around, eating a pastry,
listening in on some conversations. I didn’t know anyone here other
than Iris and I was beginning to feel a little awkward about being
in the room. Iris had disappeared with Art a few minutes after she
walked away from me and hadn’t been back since. I wondered if all
opening nights were like this for her. I probably should have asked
at some point. Regardless, she very obviously didn’t have time for
me.
I was getting another
cup of coffee when I saw her come back to the room. But as she did,
Art called her back in the direction she came. He was with a woman
I hadn’t seen before. The three gathered by the doorway, standing
very close to one another and speaking intently. I figured this was
my cue to leave. As I passed Iris, I caught her eye and waved to
her. She tilted her head and mouthed the word “sorry,” to which I
responded by raising my hands in a gesture that I intended to mean,
“No problem.”
I drove through town
and onto the highway without music. I couldn’t help but feel
disappointed with the way the evening had turned out. Clearly, Iris
was besieged and at least some of this seemed unexpected to her.
But at the same time, she hadn’t given me any indication at all
that she was glad I’d made the gesture. I concluded that this meant
one only thing: that what I saw as a growing friendship between us
meant far less to her than it did to me. I felt stupid for having
let my guard down.
I didn’t want to be
in that position, especially with Iris. To me, it was far better to
scale back my perception of our relationship – perhaps completely –
than to feel like a footnote in her life. I decided to give myself
some time before I called on her again.
The road was open and
dark. I reached for the iPod. I wanted something loud. I scrolled
down to a Korn album and let the thudding rap metal lead me back to
Amber.
The next night, Tyler
and I closed the store together. Thursdays were always considerably
busier than Wednesdays and this one was much more so. Though it
would be a month before the real peak season began in town, the
days had been clear and warm for the past couple of weeks, and this
meant people started coming to Amber earlier for long weekends.
Progress on the repairs continued to slog along, but even this
didn’t seem to deter the customers. I was thankful for the activity
and its ability to take my mind off the night before in
Lenox.
As we walked toward
our cars, I asked Tyler if he wanted to get a drink and we drove
over to the Cornwall. He ordered a Danish pilsner and I got a deep
red Irish.
“Home stretch at
school, huh?” I said after the drinks arrived.
“Yeah, if I survive.
I thought I was coasting with this independent study project, but
it’s turning into something like a Master’s thesis for
me.”
“You gonna make
it?”
“I’ll definitely make
it. I’m thinking that next Monday might be the last night of sleep
I get for the next couple of weeks, though. You’ll be okay if I
pass out on top of the cash register every now and then,
right?”
“No problem as long
as we can reach around you.”
“Thanks.” He took a
drink of his beer. “I had a great trip into the City a couple of
days ago.”
When people in Amber
talked about “the City,” they could as easily be talking about
Boston as Manhattan. New Yorkers found this hilarious. In Tyler’s
case, though, I knew that the only city that mattered was
Manhattan.
“Job
interview?”
“Exploratory stuff. I
talked to someone at Pfizer, though I can’t really imagine working
there. I had another conversation with that nonprofit organization
I told you about, which was actually interesting. I never
considered myself an NPO kind of guy, but a woman I saw there got
me a little intrigued. My best meeting, though, was with the
president of an independent marketing firm. Relatively small shop
but with some decent-sized clients. I think I’d like something like
that. Not getting lost in a huge corporation but still getting to
work on some big stuff. I told the guy that I would be going back
to school for my MBA in about two years and he couldn’t have
responded better. He told me that he had set things up with other
employees so they could go to school mostly full-time and still
keep their hands in the business. I could definitely see myself
working for someone like him. Not that he had any job
openings.”
“Never know,
though.”
“No, you never know.
But you know what the best part of the trip was for me? The same
thing that happens every time I go there. I just totally get into
the feel of the City. I mean the second I get into Grand Central
Station I just know that I’m in the right place. It’s funny because
a lot of people I know around here feel kind of intimidated by the
size of it all. But I just love it. I can’t wait to move
in.”
I’d never really had
that feeling about Manhattan. We didn’t go there very often when I
was growing up and my visits since had been enjoyable, often even
exciting. But I never once thought that I’d want to live there. It
just had too much of everything. I could understand how some would
see this as a huge opportunity, but to me it just suggested
chaos.
“How have things been
with Richard this week?” Tyler asked.
“Nothing new. Lots of
sitting around in his robe. Gotta get him some new ones. He stopped
wearing slippers this week, though. I’m not sure whether this is
progress or not.”
Tyler winced. “God, I
hope he gets past this. I really miss him.”
I shook my head.
“This heart thing has really thrown him. Way beyond what I
thought.”
“This is such a
shitty thing for him to be going through. He’s such a good guy. And
he was a great boss. To tell you the truth, I’ve been comparing all
of the people I’m meeting to your dad. I’d really like to avoid
going from working for someone as smart and inspiring as Richard to
working for someone really lame.”
I laughed. “You think
my father’s inspiring?”
“Yeah, of course. You
don’t see that?”
“Well, I know he’s a
nice guy.”
“A great guy. But
inspiring, too. He’s been a real mentor to me. Shown me all kinds
of things about how to make decisions, how to analyze information,
about caring about what you do. I had a much more jaundiced view of
the public – and about working with the public – before I started
working for him.”
I nodded. “That’s
nice to know, I guess.”
It was so interesting
to hear Tyler talk about my father this way. I don’t know if it was
just a wave of sentimentality lapping up against me because he was
sick now, but I found myself warmed a little to think that my dad
had an impact on someone as together as Tyler. I’d never seen him
this way. I knew my mother was totally dedicated to him and that
Chase was always “on” around him. And I knew that he had that
incongruous track record of finding conscientious college-age kids.
But I never considered him the catalyst for any of it.
“Do you two not get
along?” Tyler asked.
“No, nothing like
that. We’ve always gotten along fine. You know, playing ball, going
swimming, that sort of thing. I just never considered him to be my
mentor, so it’s a little funny hearing someone else refer to him
that way.”
“Well, you’ve kinda
made it obvious that the store isn’t exactly your
thing.”
“I just never really
got it, you know? I could never understand how this would be enough
for a grown human being. You stand behind a cash register while a
customer tries to decide whether ‘to my dearest husband’ or ‘to my
darling husband’ sends the right message and some orchestra plays
embarrassing renditions of rock classics.”
Tyler chuckled and
took another drink. I wasn’t sure whether he was laughing because
he agreed with me or because it had become evident to him how
little I understood what my father did.
“It just wasn’t where
I was going,” I said. “By the time I was old enough to be obligated
to work in the store, I had much bigger things in mind. Even before
I knew the term ‘multimedia,’ I was envisioning a future in that
world. Television, radio, computers, movies, I was going to work in
all of those platforms. I was going to assimilate serious
intellectual thought into material for the masses. A stationery
store seemed like ridiculously small potatoes by comparison. I was
majoring in communications with a minor in philosophy at
Emerson.”
“So how come you
didn’t do anything with it?”
I looked around the
room. Phil the pirate was attempting to intimidate some guys at a
table on the other side of the bar while they laughed loudly and
ignored him.
“I don’t know; the
thing with Chase sorta threw me, I guess. By the time I got myself
back together, I’d lost a lot of credits and I couldn’t get the
energy up to start in the middle again.”
“It’s too bad. It
sounds like you had some cool ideas. But life is long,
right?”
“Something like that.
Anyway, that was all a roundabout way of saying that I always
thought my father was a good guy. Just not particularly relevant,
if you know what I mean.”
“I guess I do, sort
of. Most families are complicated, though.”
“Yeah, complicated
pretty much describes it.”
“Must be tough losing
a brother.”
“Killed
me.”
“I can imagine. It
sounds like Chase was a cool guy, too. I’ve heard a lot of stories.
I’m not sure there were two days in a row that went by when Richard
didn’t at least mention his name.”
“He took it pretty
badly.”
Tyler gestured for
another beer. “Sounds like you took it pretty badly,
too.”
I nodded. “Yeah,
having that car accident was a pretty shitty thing for him to do to
all of us.” I turned to get the waiter’s attention for another beer
of my own.
Once the second round
came, we switched subjects. We discussed our joint befuddlement
with women for a while and then spent nearly an hour talking about
music. Tyler had varied and mostly sophisticated tastes and we
agreed on enough that when he recommended an artist I didn’t know,
I wrote the name down on my napkin. He had some holes, though. He
truly believed that Robert Cray was in the same league as Jimi
Hendrix and completely missed the significance of the No Depression
movement. I made a note to myself to show him the error in his ways
while we were still working together.
Another beer later,
we headed out the door. It was good having Tyler around. It was
nice to know that I’d at least have one interesting colleague to
help pass the hours during my incarceration at Amber Cards, Gifts,
and Stationery.
Two days later, Iris
called me at the store.
“It’s good to hear
you survived opening night,” I said. “It seemed in doubt for a
while there.”
“You’re not kidding.
They’re always bad, but this one was worse than most. The reviews,
of course, were great and ticket sales are strong, so I think we’ve
managed to fool everyone again.”
“I genuinely thought
it was a good show.”
“It probably is a
good show. I usually can’t appreciate them until six months later.
Anyway, I wanted to thank you again for coming up.” She hadn’t
thanked me a first time, but I let it pass. “I got a little bit of
a funny feeling when you left the other night and I just wanted to
make sure that everything was okay.”
I wondered if I
should be impressed with Iris’ sensitivity or embarrassed that I’d
shown my irritation so easily. My feelings that night were all very
complicated and I certainly didn’t want Iris to think that I was
angry with her for not paying attention to me when her world was
boiling over. At the same time, I was touched that, regardless of
the reason, Iris had taken note and thought to call me about it.
I’d been irrationally upset with her for the past couple of days
because she hadn’t leaped into my arms when she saw me there. But I
didn’t want her to know this.
“Yeah, everything is
fine,” I said. “I’m not sure what you were picking up. Probably
just that I don’t like hanging out at parties.”
“So you’re
okay?”
“Completely.”
“It really was
incredibly nice of you to drive all that way for the
opening.”
“You made it sound
too good to pass up.”
“Well, I’m really
glad you came – even if I didn’t do a very good job of showing that
to you.”
“Don’t be silly. You
were crazed. I just wanted to see the show and then use my
connections to sneak backstage afterward. I just love throwing my
weight around. You’re probably a little jaded at this point because
these productions have become old hat, but you should be very happy
with what you put on there. The entire organization should
be.”
“Thanks. It means a
lot to hear you say that and it meant a lot to see you the other
night.”
A customer came to
the counter and I gestured for Carl to take care of
him.
“I loved doing it.
And I really don’t need a major excuse to get the hell out of
here.”
“No luck on the sale
yet?”
“Does bad luck
count?”
“Sorry. And you’re
really stuck there until the place sells?”
“If I ever want to
set foot in my parents’ home again. I didn’t think this through
well enough at all. I was certain I’d be gone by now.”
“Well listen, if you
think you’re still going to be around in a couple of weeks, I’m
coming down for a few days starting on the fourth. Do you want to
get together then?”
“Yeah, that would be
great. Maybe we can do something during the day. The weather’s been
amazing here.”
“I’d like that. Can
we plan on the fifth? My mother would collapse if I went out for
the day right after driving down.”
“You got it. I’m sure
they’ll get by without me here. They can close the freaking store
for the day if they want to.”