Elizabeth the First Wife (22 page)

I tried to assuage his fears. “Do you want to create a safe sign? Like an SOS?”

He shook his head, but I went on. “Just in case you feel like something is going awry and you want a gut check.” Yes, it was a little
foolish, but I was getting paid to look out for his broader interests, and besides, I needed a little job security. That kitchen wasn't going to remodel itself. And I was not losing that prep sink just because some Aussie director didn't want to share the spotlight. The least I could do was make myself available, even if I had to pretend to be invisible. “Believe me, if things are going really badly, I'll call 911. But short of that, you might need me.”

“Well. …”

“If you're concerned, flash me a peace sign.” I demonstrated. “I'll take notes and talk to you about it after.”

“Okay, that's a good plan. But it's going to be great, right?”

“It's gonna be great.”

It was going to be great, if the three-hour read-through was any indication. From the moment we stepped through the door, it felt like we'd entered another world. A world of magical words and wonderful actors and big, big thinkers. I was afraid to use the bathroom because I didn't want to miss a second of the rehearsal.

Taz dominated the afternoon, but the actors held up their end in terms of electricity. Because of the short timeline and the lastminute nature of the production, the casting had been done by the OSF casting director, not Taz and FX. But it was clear that the actors were seasoned and lovely to look at, with skin of every color. For some reason, they also smelled really good, like they'd all gone out together in the lavender fields, rolled around, and headed into the read-through. I hoped the perfumed air was symbolic of the love and harmony to come.

Maddie and I slipped into a dark corner, kept our heads down, and observed the proceedings like they, in and of themselves, were a piece of theater. It took me right back to my high school productions. I could pick out the diva, the ingénue, the bit players, and the leads.
There was the guy who'd been desperate for attention at sixteen and was still desperate for attention at thirty-six. The players might have been more polished and professional, but the dynamics were the same.

Taz and his crew were already deep in conversation as the actors wandered in. I guessed his choreographer, Phoebe, was the woman in all black with the wide headband and dreadlocks. The lighting designer, I think Taz had called him Jason, was a tall, thin man with a short beard and neatly cuffed jeans, like Carson Cressly with half the sass. Lulu, his stage manager, was a short, stocky woman with a buzz cut, a tight white T-shirt, and Dickies, and she'd clearly break heads if anyone missed a cue. The sound designer, a young guy in a Radiohead T-shirt, hung on every word Taz delivered. The costume designer, Zadie, a striking woman with a long gray ponytail, exuded energy and color, perfect for the show. Off to the side, a young intern, about the same age as Maddie, juggled two cell phones and a clipboard. He looked absolutely terrified. This was a formidable team and obviously one that did not need a community college English professor to advise them on how to mount a production of any sort. What was FX thinking? What was I thinking?

I noticed the actors sneaking quick glances at FX as he waded his way through the crowd, introducing himself and shaking hands. The youngish foursome, laughing a little too loudly, must be playing the young lovers. The actor playing Puck was easy to spot, spry and slightly green, as if he'd had a little too much to drink last night. A gaggle of character actors stood in a circle telling stories; they were probably the ones who'd been cast as the Deadheads/Rude Mechanicals. One was even wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt in solidarity. These were professionals who had dozens of plays, Shakespeare and otherwise, on their resumes. Belonging to a well-established repertory company like OSF allowed them the sorts of perks most actors never achieved: steady paychecks, regular work, and artistic satisfaction. But FX was a rich movie star and
People's
Sexiest Man on Earth 2008, and those were credits that ninety-nine-point-nine
percent of working actors would never earn.

Right away, FX found the actress who'd play Titania to his Oberon. Her name was Sabrina Cooke, and according to her bio on the website, which I'd memorized that morning over coffee, she had studied at UNC and Juilliard, been a member of the company for ten years, and had a recurring role on
Law
&
Order: SVU
, among other TV parts. This summer, in addition to her
Midsummer
role, Sabrina was Katherine, Queen of France, in
Henry V
, and she was also playing Cinderella in the production of a new high-concept musical called
Medea/Macbeth/Cinderella
.

Oh good, I thought, she not only can act but sing and dance while doing both light comedy and heavy drama. A real no-talent.

Sabrina was striking in that “Nicole Kidman is my Personal Jesus” kind of way, with skin that had never been sunburned, an emerald green scarf, and deep auburn hair that looked like it cost a small fortune to maintain. Where did she find a colorist that good in this neck of the woods, I wondered, as I watched her toss her locks back and forth. Even from a distance, I could tell FX was charmed. I felt a little sick to my stomach.

The scene took me right back to New York City in 1998, when FX had debuted in
Cymbeline
, his first gig out of college. He'd won a small but noticeable part in the Public Theater's production with Liev Schreiber, that summer's offering for Shakespeare in the Park. I toiled away as a production intern, which meant mountains of copying, sorting, filing, and occasionally handing out free tickets on street corners. Meanwhile, FX got his first taste of New York applause, great reviews, and willing cast mates. As I watched him now, my face burning, I couldn't help but wonder how many Sabrinas there had been in our short marriage. Well, besides the one I knew about.

Better not to think about it. Denial was my Personal Jesus.

Fortunately, just as I was about to spiral downward into what Bumble would call “a pity party for one,” Taz started off the rehearsal with a rousing speech that outlined his vision for the play and the
schedule over the next two weeks leading up to opening night. Then he introduced FX, who got a small round of applause. He humbly thanked the company for welcoming him into their midst under special circumstances. “I know you're all performing at least three roles this season, six nights a week, with barely a day off. I'd like to get at least some credit for doing two roles in one play a couple of days a week. First round on me after we open.”

A short cheer went up from the other actors. FX glanced at me and I gave him the thumbs up. Not our safe sign, but I thought he'd understand the meaning.

Once the read-through started, Taz exerted his control. He was more of a conductor than director. He stood in the front of the room, his ripped arms highlighted by his body-hugging white shirt, commanding the actors to speak. Occasionally he grabbed the actors and led them through simple blocking while they did their speeches, like a dance partner. Sometimes he'd stop actors mid-scene to praise and skip ahead. “Good, good. No need to read further. Let's move on. Next. …” Or give them an instruction and have them try it again. At the tops of scenes, he'd point to his technical crew, as if he held a baton in right hand, and they chimed in with what the lighting would look like, what the costumes might suggest, what music would be in the background to give the actors a sense of what they were working with. There was laughter and romance from the words on the page, but there was also pressure and high expectations from Taz. By the time the last line was delivered, the vibe in the room was a collective shout. Taz was dripping in sweat.

I was blown away.

After thanking everyone for their hard work, Taz sent the actors off for the night. Many of them had to be onstage in a few hours, as the season was already in full swing, including productions of
Henry V, The Tempest, Our Town
, and two new plays by young playwrights. “Good work. Lulu's posted the call sheet for the next week. Get your sleep and eat your Wheaties, because this show is going to rock 'n'
roll.” For the first time all day, Taz looked in my direction. He gave me a subdued head lift and eyebrow raise. I reciprocated with a brief smile.

That guy didn't like me.

“So?” FX asked after the rest of the cast had left.

“That was something else. Everyone is so good. That was a first read-through and the pace and chemistry was crazy good.”

“I know. Just…wow. I haven't felt like this in years. Remember
Cymbeline?” Yeah, I did
. I hesitated, and FX quickly amended his question. “The electricity onstage? It felt like that.”

Taz wandered over and skipped the pleasantries. “FX, are you staying? Lots to go over. We're ordering dinner. Maybe your intern can help our intern Dylan here.”

My jaw dropped. Confirmed. Taz really didn't like me. No way I was helping the shiny-faced teen in black jeans get dinner for Lulu, et al. Then FX piped up, “Yeah, I'll stay. Maddie, are you busy? Can you help the other intern get food for us?”

Oh, Taz meant Maddie
. I felt a huge wave of relief and then realized that Maddie was going to get to listen in on production details and I was being sent home. I jumped in to save face. “Great idea. I have to run home to walk the dog. This was fantastic to watch, Taz. Thanks for letting me observe. So much to take home to my students. Maddie, you'll stay, right?”

“I'd love to.” Her enthusiasm for fetching food made me suspicious until I saw her mooning at intern Dylan. Of course, she was excited about being near a movie star and a famous director, but clearly she was more thrilled to be near another soul who loved theater, wore glasses, and was cute. Maddie turned to me, “You sure, Elizabeth?”

“Of course, you're here to learn. And one of the most important
things you can learn how to do in your career is order meals. I think you have a leg up on Dylan, because I know Bumble doesn't cook. But don't walk home alone. Text me if you need me to come get you.”

Oh God, I sounded like a soccer mom. FX laughed. “It's Ashland. I think the last crime committed here was in 1982 and involved lawn gnomes.”

“Hey, we have a missing ferret on our street. You don't know what happened to that ferret.”

“I'll make sure she gets home safely,” Dylan said with a shy smile.