Elizabeth the First Wife (18 page)

“I took the whole place for the summer. Isn't it great?” FX threw his arm in a giant circle, implying that all within sight belonged to him: the two small cottages, the lovely spa, the tea garden, and the rock-lined private hot springs. Tucked into a corner of the Railroad District, the Chozu Bath & Tea Garden was now FXHQ for the duration of our stay. Top-notch assistant Angie had mumbled something about finding FX a place “with a staff and without any chintz”—not easy to do in Ashland. (The chintz part, not the staff part.) But in the Anything's Negotiable spirit, she'd found FX the only Japanese-inspired hideaway in Southern Oregon and made it his for ten weeks. The arrangements included a masseuse and an in-house sushi chef to serve him as needed. “I had to buy out some of the guests who had already booked in, but wait until you soak in the hot-spring tubs. Perfect ratio of salt. Like the Amanpuri Phuket.”

Just what I needed. I was already a wreck and now he'd reminded me how out of my comfort zone I was. This was Hollywood in
Ashland; I was Pasadena in Ashland. I tried to blend in.

“Next time, I'll bring my suit.”

“Or not,” FX winked, and unbelievably, I blushed. Here was a man I'd been naked with for most of the latter half of the '90s and I blushed at the thought of even skinny-dipping with him. Skinnydipping!
Get a grip, Elizabeth
. FX, used to blushing girls, barely registered my color. “Wine, beer, or tea?”

Definitely wine.

“So can I get a hint about what Taz is thinking?” I was hoping for a preview before Taz showed up so I could be prepared for whatever creative grenade the Australian might toss. On the short walk over from my house to FX's compound, I'd worked up a sweat thinking about all the dodgy
Midsummers
that Taz might pitch: Zombie
Midsummer
. All-male
Midsummer. Midsummer
in Vegas. FX had been tight-lipped until now, and that scared me a little. “What's so mind-blowing?”

A voice boomed out. “Mind-blowing? I assume you're talking about me.” From behind a changing-room door, the unmistakable Taz Buchanan appeared. He certainly hadn't overdressed for the meeting: He was wearing a sarong and not much else, even though the weather was cool. My first thought: So glad I'm not wearing that sheath dress.

Taz came in for the double kiss. He was medium height, well built, and not so much handsome as fierce looking. His chest was still slightly damp, and he smelled of salt and lavender from the spa. “You must be Lizzie. You've done a marvelous job getting this lad up to speed. All those years doing action movies, wasn't sure FX could handle this much plot and dialogue. Are you ready to make magic?”

I took a big swig of wine and braced myself. “You bet.”
You bet? Was I freaking Canadian?

FX stepped in, much to my relief. “Put a shirt on, Taz, and let Elizabeth catch her breath. I don't think she's seen that many men in skirts in Pasadena.”

Taz roared, the kind of laughter you read about in books but rarely ever hear in person. Though his real name was Arthur Buchanan and he wasn't from Tasmania, his zeal for life landed him the nickname Taz at a Sydney prep school (where he shocked school officials by performing Hamlet's famed soliloquy in drag). Thirty seconds into our relationship, I saw why female stars fell for him, producers courted him, and actors revered him. He was like a giant magnet of energy. According to a
Vanity Fair
profile, he used his charm to pull people into his projects and then hammered everyone on set during the production to get the best out of them. And he only slept four hours a night, dabbled in veganism, and played Midnight Oil albums at least once a day.

It's not easy to upstage FX Fahey, but Taz Buchanan was a close, close second. Tan and robust, he looked like he spent his summers surfing at Bondi Beach. To go with the sarong, he threw on a fitted Lacoste shirt and a black beanie to cover his famously bald head. His blue eyes were, well, spectacular. I'm really going to enjoy working with him, I thought.

“There. Fully dressed, milady.” Taz gave a little bow.

So I'd already been identified as the prude.

“Thank you.” Yes, I should have come up with something more clever than that, but I didn't have that “instant rapport” gene that so many Hollywood types possessed. I'd watched Bumble do it—immediately assimilate to her surroundings with false intimacy. The inside jokes from the get-go. The nicknames on day one. The complete ease with complete strangers simply because they, too, were in the business. Maybe because I wasn't in the business, I tended to wait to get to know a person before I pretended to know a person. But I tried my best to play the part. “I was just working on some CliffsNotes for our boy there.”

“Thanks, Liz. Make sure you put in the phonetic spellings for any really tricky words.” Taz continued to mock FX, much to my pleasure.

“Will do.”

FX piped up. “Good thing you're both here to back me up. I'd be standing onstage shell-shocked without you.”

A slight, dark-haired woman dressed in black appeared with a tray of sushi, some exotic-looking rolls, and miso soup. She set them down soundlessly on the teak table and didn't make eye contact with any of us. I wondered if that was in FX's contract rider, negotiated of course by Angie: “Staff is not to speak until addressed, or make eye contact with Mr. Fahey or any of his guests during the term of agreement.” Was FX really that kind of diva? But just then he said, “Thanks, Ming. Looks wonderful. So, should we get on with it?”
Oh, good. FX hadn't gone totally diva
.

“That's my cue,” Taz said, taking a healthy swig of beer and going into director mode. ”All right, Professor. I hear you're a tough audience, but humor me for a bit. Imagine this. A big party in a bucolic setting, youth versus the establishment, magical forces at work, a traveling band of merry pranksters, the ‘love the one you're with' ethos. …”

Taz had me so far. Pretty much all the essential elements of
Midsummer
, but in that Australian accent, they sounded new and fresh. I couldn't help but smile.

He paused dramatically and then announced, “It's hot. It's sexy. It's young. I'm talking about
A Midsummer Night's Dream
…at Woodstock 1969.”

Whoa.

“Can ya dig it?” FX added lightly, but his expression was serious. This was his career, and it was my only job to make sure he didn't get humiliated again. I recognized the flicker of doubt. Either
“A Midsummer Night's Dream
at Woodstock 1969” was an off-the-charts concept that worked beautifully or it was a hokey disaster. At this point, he wasn't quite sure which. Neither was I.

I bought some time, grilling Taz on a few of the details to make sure I really understood his vision. I'd developed this method over
my years of teaching—it's how to poke holes in a student's thesis statement without coming right out and saying that it doesn't work. “So, take me through this. The big party in a bucolic setting. …”

“That's the main event,” Taz said. “The wedding of Theseus and Hippolyta. They've got four days of partying before the ceremony.”

“Youth versus the establishment?”

“Young lovers Hermia and Lysander escaping the wishes of the king to be with each other instead of being forced into an arranged marriage.”

“Magical forces?”

“Fairy dust, aka LSD, or pot—take your pick.”

“Got it. And I take it the Merry Pranksters are the traveling players, the Rude Mechanicals?”

“Yeah, as Deadheads.”

“Love the one you're with?”

“Never a stranger passion than Titania the Fairy Queen falling for Bottom the Ass,” Taz concluded with a satisfied grin.

“Well?” FX stared at me. “What do you think?”

This was my money moment. I could have dug in my heels and asked to hear more justification for the modern dress, not being a fan of most contemporary interpretations of Shakespeare. I could have asked a million practical questions about the production or the casting. I could have zeroed in on how FX might benefit from this concept as opposed to a traditional production. Maybe it was the wine or the tea lights in the trees, but I decided to go with my gut. “It's brilliant. In every way. Fun, sexy, summery. Woodstock is exactly the sort of setting Shakespeare himself would have exploited for his own use. In fact, it's the same sort of woodsy, magical setting he exploited in
Midsummer
. Wonderful. I love it.”

Taz nodded in appreciation, but the set of his jaw told me he already knew that it worked. Had he just been humoring me? Did Taz resent that I was a gatekeeper?

I let those worries go, because FX smiled a huge smile of relief.
He stood up and circled the table, coming behind me to give me a hug. His arms wrapped around me completely. His body was warm against my shoulders, and I felt his breath against my neck. I relaxed back into his grasp. Clearly, I had validated his instincts, which is always a good feeling. But more than that, there was a flicker of our connection from years ago. We were on the same page. That was a good feeling, too.

“Sushi?” FX asked, and we settled into discussing the details of the production. Taz described his vision of a stage filled with music, color, and good love. A balance between the known world and the psychedelic, the locals and the hippies. The young lovers would awaken in the woods after a night of mayhem to the strains of the famous Jimi Hendrix version of the national anthem. If the production was half as dynamic as Taz's description, it would be a sensation, one of the hottest tickets of the summer anywhere, let alone in Ashland.

From an interpretation standpoint, it was right on point. But I had to ask a practical question. “I know this isn't my area, but how are you going to pull all this off? It's only a few weeks until you open.”

FX impressed me with his answer. He was not just a star but a producer on the play, and it showed. “This is a repertory company, so the actors are used to juggling multiple shows on really tight rehearsal schedules. Many of them have done
Midsummer
before somewhere, in some capacity. So staging and blocking should go really quickly. Lines are no issue.

“And our big leap is to do most of the magic with a theater-of-the-mind aesthetic. Complicated sets are out. No time, no money. Costumes will be very simple and easy. We've got our designer scouring thrift stores now.

“Imagine Theseus, King of Athens, in a Nehru jacket,” FX said.

“Or a dashiki?” I suggested.

“No, that's Oberon. But exactly.” Taz took over the explaining.
“The lighting and the music will be key. It's where we'll make the ‘theater' happen. My people are working on the music rights like 24/7, so the whole show will be soundtracked to the Woodstock soundtrack. Whatever we can clear, we'll use. And my lighting director is the best. We're also using big-screen projections for a rockconcert feel.”

FX refilled my glass and said, “The festival's director is completely behind this. Gus Grant is new, so he wants to bring some new energy, new concepts to Ashland. The ticketing is going to be done by a daily lottery, with people lining up to get wristbands. They hope that will bring younger audiences here. Hey, normally, they wouldn't let a guy like me show up and do one play and call it a day. I'd have to be in two or three productions and earn my repertory stripes. But I know Gus from way back. He's happy to have me.” FX's face registered self-consciousness. “Or, I should say, us.” Taz didn't look comforted.

“To
Midsummer!”
I toasted, hoping to cover the slight.

“To
Midsummer!”
the boys replied.

I looked up past my raised glass and saw that there were actually stars in the night sky, something we don't really have in Southern California. They surprised me for a second. I had to recalibrate my brain, recalling where I was and what was happening. It was a delightful realization that I'd have many more conversations like this over the next few weeks. Then I got another surprise.

“So Liz, how long are you staying. Few days?” It was Taz, and it appeared to be a genuine question. I was dumbstruck.

FX answered for me, because apparently my mouth was no longer functional. “Elizabeth's here all summer. She's writing a book about Shakespeare and contemporary relationships.” His eyes pleaded with me to play along. “Ashland's the perfect place for that, right?”

I summoned the fewest words I could get away with at the moment. “You bet.”