“Couldn’t we postpone?”
“Yes, but that costs money. We’re stretched very thin as it is.” She sighed heavily. “You don’t know how I hate doing this,” she said. “I’ve known Danny a long time. This isn’t our first show together, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“He’s had a rough time these last five years. I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Neither do I.” I hesitated and then said, “Look, maybe we ought to forget it, just take our chances and see what happens.”
“No,” she said.
“It’s only a play, Beth.”
“Is it only a play, Gene?” I did not answer her. She nodded wearily. “We’ll do what has to be done,” she said. “The only thing...”
“Yes?”
“I want it to come from him. I want him to realize for himself that it’s no good anymore. I want him to suggest that we bring in another director.”
“Who have you got in mind?”
“I’ve already spoken to Terry Brown. He says he’s interested.”
“When did you do that?”
“This morning. Would you agree to Terry?”
“Of course I would.”
“Fine then,” she said, and nodded.
We sat in silence for several moments. And then, because we had completed the difficult pan of our discussion, deciding unanimously that we were ready and willing to sacrifice Danny for the sake of the play, we now rushed into the easy part — how to commit our homicide. We spoke in whispers; there was the hard beat of urgency to our words.
“When will we do it?”
“Tonight,” Beth said. “After the performance.”
“Where?”
“Ho Tang’s. We’ll gradually lead up to what’s wrong, try to make Danny see he’s hurting the show.”
“Then what?”
“When he suggests getting another director, I’ll pretend Terry is a spur-of-the-moment idea.”
“Why all the duplicity?” I said. “Why can’t we just tell him straight out?”
“I told you. I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Suppose he doesn’t suggest...”
“I’ve thought of that,” Beth said.
“I mean, it may never even occur to him that we should get another director.”
“In that case, I’ll just have to tell him,” Beth said. “Straight out,” she said, and sighed.
I sighed, too.
We shook hands then, and glanced over our shoulders like the conspirators we surely were. Beth walked off up Central Park South. I went down Fifth to Forty-Sixth and then cut crosstown to the theater.
The matinee had not yet broken.
I stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the marquee.
The new title of the play had been suggested by Danny a week before we went into rehearsal. Every time I looked at it, or heard it spoken, or even thought about it, I felt a pang of guilt, as though I had honestly named my baby Max, only to have agreed later that his name should be changed to Percy. The stars’ names were above the title — their credits rigidly predetermined by contract and scrupulously respected by those professionals who design window cards, three-sheets, and newspaper ads — in the same size, style, weight, color, and color background as the title. Listed below their names was the title itself (I felt the pang of guilt) and then my name as author (25 % of the title) and then the names of the supporting players (50 % of the title) and then Danny’s name as director (100 % of the title, on the strength of the hit show he had directed for Beth five years back). I stood studying the marquee in despair, not because my name was the smallest one on it, but only because I suspected I might wish it were even smaller come opening night, illegible perhaps, known to only a few loved ones like my mother and my wife, otherwise hidden from the rest of the scornful world.
I stared at the marquee only a moment longer.
Then I walked up to Sixth Avenue and found a bar.
I did not call Natalie until just before dinner, when I told her the plan and announced that I might very well shoot myself before the night was over.
“Don’t shoot yourself,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Give me one good reason why.”
“I’ll give you four good reasons why,” she said. “Me, Sharon, Peter, and the dog.”
“Hell with the goddamn dog,” I said.
“Have you been drinking a little, dear?” she asked sweetly.
“I have been drinking a lot,” I said. “Natalie,” I said, “I have the feeling that before this day is through I will have consumed more alcohol than I have previously in my entire life included.”
“Darling,” she said, “go back to the apartment and take a shower.”
“All right, honey, I’ll take a shower.”
“Good.” She paused. “Make it a cold one.”
“Very good,” I said, “a cold one. Goodbye, darling, I’ll call you later.”
“Whatever time it is,” she said. “Good luck.”
I didn’t take a shower. I walked from Forty-sixth to Thirty-fourth instead, and then I took a cab back to Forty-fourth and Sixth and ate four hot dogs with sauerkraut at the hot dog stand on the corner there, and then walked up to Columbus Circle and sat near the statue and wondered where the pigeons went when it got dark. I was waiting in Ho Tang’s when Danny and Beth came in. Edward was a step behind them. Danny walked jauntily to the juke box, and “One More Time” pierced the Korean dusk.
“Gene,” he shouted, “where the hell were you? You missed the best performance we’ve ever had!”
“I had to meet...”
“It was tremendous,” he said, coming over to the table, “absolutely tremendous!”
“... my agent,” I mumbled. “Had to meet him.” My eyes sought Beth’s as she took off her Persian lamb and draped it over the back of the chair beside me. I could read nothing on her face.
“The audience loved it!” Danny said. He slid into the booth behind the table, so that Beth and I were facing him. Edward sat on his right and a jutting mirrored wall was on his left. It occurred to me that we had him surrounded, escape was impossible. “They laughed in all the right places,” he said, “they were quiet when they were supposed to be, they cried when... Beth, did you hear how still it got during the marbles scene?”
“Yes,” she said, “they were very attentive.” Her voice was noncommittal. I still knew nothing.
We ordered a round of drinks while Danny went on to relate to me all I had missed, going over each and every line the audience had howled at, explaining how the father-son scene had torn out their hearts, telling me he had seen an old lady openly weeping in the lobby after the second act curtain. I listened apprehensively, waiting for a cue from Beth. Were we to go through with this or not? Had she changed her mind after tonight’s performance?
“There’s still a lot wrong with it,” she said at last, and I glanced at her quickly. We were going ahead as planned. I sighed and lifted my glass.
“Oh, sure,” Danny said, “lots of little things wrong with it, but nothing we can’t fix in the next week. I tell you, I’ve never felt more confident about a show in my life. I wouldn’t have said this a few days ago, but everything suddenly seemed to come together tonight.”
He grinned charmingly, boyishly, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm. He was raising his drink to his mouth when Beth said, “Well, I’m glad you know it still needs work, Danny.”
“Oh, sure,” Danny said, and drank. “You should have been there tonight, though, Gene. You’d have been amazed.”
“Well, I saw it last night,” I said. “And I was at yesterday’s rehearsal.”