Elizabeth the First Wife (30 page)

Ah, the insulation of being a teenager. And, finally, confirmation that the “just friends” relationship was certainly more than that. An entire political firestorm was brewing around her and she was worried about her boyfriend's reaction to some photos that he himself had taken.

I hope it stayed that way.

A hastily arranged conference call was my first chance to talk to Rafa, a conversation I dreaded but knew I had to face. Bumble
presided. “Okay, are we all here? I think so. I heard Rafa, Elizabeth, Suki, and Rob. Suki's the new director of communications for the campaign, Elizabeth, and Rob is the assistant in that office. So what we're clarifying here is Maddie's role. We want to be absolutely clear in our statement. Rafa, go.”

So this is how Bumble sounded at work, I thought. Not really that much different than how Bumble sounded planning Thanksgiving.

Rafa jumped in and my heart pounded. I already felt physically nauseous; now I felt emotionally nauseous. “Right, Elizabeth, why don't you talk us through Maddie's day-to-day work?” I certainly wouldn't put his voice in the warm-and-fuzzy category. Or even the slightly cool category. It was glacial. “Elizabeth, are you there?”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” I gushed, stalling for time. “Um, technically, Maddie is my intern, but she was pretty much co-opted by the production team to handle lots of menial tasks over the course of the last few weeks. She's been working closely with the director Taz Buchanan and with FX Fahey on everything from basic gofer stuff to launching their social media campaign. During the actual performance, she's nowhere near the action, if you know what I mean.” I was hoping to lighten the tone. No such luck.

“But under your direct supervision at all times, correct?” Rafa asked.

“Well. …” There was no getting around it. I was now going to have to publicly announce that I'd been banned from the set, that Maddie was not only operating completely independently, but also supplying me with information. It was humiliating, deeply humiliating. “Not exactly under my supervision. At all times. In fact, never really. I mean, we text a lot.”

I could sense the phone line freeze and break.

“Knock, knock!” In a celebratory mood, FX showed up at the door, pizza and beer in hand. He'd been sending me links all day of positive press from various sources.
(Hollywood Reporter
. Taz, FX
Midsummer
“Dream” Team.
New York Times: Midsummer
Magic in Ashland.) Clearly he wanted to share the buzz with his entourage—or any entourage. Allowing for the jam-packed schedule of a repertory company,
Midsummer
would run only two nights a week and one weekend matinee, leaving FX plenty of time to wander the streets of Ashland in search of dinner partners while the other actors in the company, including the lovely Sabrina, did other shows. I don't want to say we were his second or third choice, but I'm certain we weren't his first.

While the camera may have caught FX and Maddie together on opening night, it was Sabrina who actually snuck off to the private poolhouse later that night with FX after I shot him down. Well, at least I hadn't made that mistake, I thought as I opened the screen door and let the pizza in. FX followed. “Who wants dinner? No meat in sight! Got a Slammy from Creekside. Our favorite, Maddie.”

I marveled at how a guy who'd lived in New York City for the last fifteen years could eat a pizza that featured yams and caramelized onions and still maintain his self-respect. But FX had no shame when it came to his newfound love, the Slammy.

“What does meat matter? I'm probably going to be sent home to the beef capital of America tomorrow anyway!” Maddie said dramatically and erroneously, as Pasadena is not particularly known for its beef consumption.

FX looked confused, so I filled him in on the situation as succinctly as I could, using phrases like “blip on the screen” and “bump in the road”—anything to underscore the small scale of the disaster. He was appalled and right away offered to call his press agent, Heather, who, unbelievably, I hadn't even heard of yet. But I begged off, “Please, this is a nothing thing. And, it's totally Ted's
nothing thing. I think the less we say, do, and care, the better. And Bumble warned me, no cross-messaging.”

“What does that mean?” Maddie asked.

“It means, let Bumble do the talking. On the conference call, she kept repeating, ‘Contain the story. Keep it local.' You're not local news, FX.”

“Why are people afraid of pushing the boundaries?” he asked, missing the point entirely. “That is the point of art. And art is life. There's pain, misery, happiness, sex, birth, death, weddings, nudity, emotional vulnerability—it's all in there. Why do people have such a hang-up about digging in and examining the truth?”

Spoken like the Boy in the Plastic Bubble. I used my Professor Lancaster tone to keep the discussion on track. “I'm not sure it's art anyone's afraid of, but there is a certain crowd that seems scared of nudity or anything that slightly resembles sex. Plus, I repeat, this is really about politics. This is about Ted and his stance on immigration or gun control or any of the other issues in which he doesn't toe the party line.” I grabbed a beer and a slice. “That being said, it probably wasn't the best idea to have a minor working on the show. The audience had to be over eighteen, and I guess the interns should have been, too. That was my fault.”

Maddie looked put out. “I'm only a minor as far as the law is concerned.”

FX and I both laughed. I switched back to Aunt Elizabeth. “Actually, as far as everyone's concerned, Maddie. But again, I've been instructed by your father's people to carry on like nothing has happened. You'll be backstage tomorrow night and guess what? Your grandmother arrives tomorrow. So gird your loins, people.”

Once again, it was me versus Skype. I stared at the screen and considered calling Rafa. Was it worth it to try to explain to him how
I could have possibly left out such a critical piece of information in our many conversations? Or should I assume that we'd gone back to an “on-demand” relationship and not even bother? Oh, what the hell. I was a grownup, and I really had nothing to hide. I clicked “call” and pinched my cheeks for color.

He didn't pick up the first time, so I tried again three minutes later, guessing that he must have been indisposed. I imagined him out in my garden, pondering his feelings for me and watering the Swiss chard. Still, no answer. A third time was desperate, right? Well, that was a fitting description of my state. Just then, my phone pinged. It was a text from Rafa: Thanks for your time today. Will call if I have questions re: situation.

Apparently he wasn't watering the chard, just ignoring my calls. That was that, I supposed. Right on cue, Puck wandered into my bedroom and rested his head on my lap. “Good dog.”

Othello & Desdemona FROM OTHELLO

HIM:
Damaged and scarred warrior who has risen above his upbringing to find success on the battlefield and then in civic life. But his polished veneer is skin-deep—this guy has a boatload of issues bubbling just under the surface. He's one big emotional red flag.

HER:
She thinks she can fix him, foolish girl. No family support, no experience in love, just an overwhelming attraction. She thinks with time, patience, and goodness she can rescue him from his awful past. Sound familiar?

WHY THEY WORK:
Oh, they don't. Sure, everyone's rooting for them initially, because wouldn't it be a great love story if these two could pull it off? Different backgrounds, different races, but one great love. But they can't, and really, not everyone's rooting for them. The minute things start to go south, they go south fast.

BEWARE THE JEALOUS FORMER BEST FRIEND:
Iago, passed over for a promotion by his boss Othello, vows revenge. And boy does he get it, using any means necessary to destroy Othello and Desdemona's relationship.

IF SHE'D ONLY LISTENED WHEN OTHELLO SAID:
“But I do love thee. And when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.”

SHAKESPEAREAN COUPLE MOST LIKELY TO:
Be featured on
20/20
.

CHEMISTRY FACTOR:
4 OUT OF 5