Wittig’s standing between us and he puts his arms around the both of us.
“Gentlemen,” he says, “what a night, huh?”
Matt and I don’t say anything, because what are you going to say? I think he’s being rhetorical.
“Matt, it came off even better than I thought it would,” Wittig continues.
“Even the scenes with the therapist? You know, I’ve had concerns they’re too chauvinistic.”
“Especially those. They’re the make-or-break scenes of your play, and they make it. You really pulled it off.” Wittig takes a big sip of his martini, really pounding down the gin.
“I appreciate you saying that, Paul.”
“I mean you really, really pulled it off. Really.”
Wittig’s sloshed. He’s getting ready to say something else, but then notices his martini glass is empty.
“Gentlemen, I’m going for a refill. I shall return.”
Wittig walks back into the party and Matt watches him go, shaking his head.
“He was my advisor at Columbia.”
“He was bragging on you tonight before the show.”
“Was he now.”
“He a playwright, too?”
“He wrote a masterpiece when he was twenty-four called In the Can. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. He doesn’t write much now. But he’s brilliant. Look, I really appreciate you coming. It’s not typical theatre.”
“You made me think, and not much does these days.”
God, I hope he doesn’t ask me anything else about the play. I really feel bad for hating it.
Matt leans over the railing and spits. On the other end of the balcony, I notice these two women stealing glances at me. They’re both wearing highly glittery dresses, and on closer inspection, I see that they’re twins: beautiful, brunette twins. I flash my best Jansen smile and turn back to Matt.
“Say, Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“Reason I’m in New York is I’m doing research for an upcoming part. I’m going to play an actor in the off-Broadway scene. And I’ve never worked here. Always done film. So there’s a lot I don’t know. And of course to do a character right, I’ve got to really understand where they’re coming from.”
“Sure.”
I sip my vodka. It’s growing on me.
“So I was wondering if I could talk to you about your experience. Not tonight of course, since you’ve got your party here, but maybe this week. And I’d love to meet the actors from Love in the 0’s, get a window into their lives.”
“Hell, Jim, I’ll put you in my play if you want.”
“Really?”
“Look, while Love in the 0’s runs in Hamilton, it’s a work in progress. I’ve written a few dozen scenes that could potentially work. The story’ll stay the same. It’ll stay a half-hour long, but I’m experimenting with what best depicts the course of this relationship. In fact, I can think of a scene right now that would be perfect for you. And I’d love to see how it plays in front of a crowd.”
“What’s the part?”
Matt polishes off the rest of his martini.
“You’d play the shrink. I wrote two parts. One for a man, one for a woman, which you saw tonight. Despite what Paul says, I’m not sure a woman shrink is the best thing for the play. You be interested?”
“Absolutely.”
That puts a hell of a smile across his face.
I take the last sip of vodka. I could breathe fire.
“If I give you a script before you leave tonight, could you come read tomorrow?”
Of course I can, but I grimace because Stars never have time to do anything.
“What time?”
“Two? I’d do it earlier, but I’m going to feel pretty shitty tomorrow morning.”
I pause for no real reason.
“All right.”
“Since it’s a short scene, what I’m thinking is, if we nail it fast, which I’m sure we will, we could be ready to show it by next performance, which is Thursday. That’s perfect, don’t you think? You get firsthand experience doing theatre in New York. I get to work with one of the greatest actors of the last twenty years. It’s a fucking dream, Jim.”
He’s pretty happy now. I think it’s starting to hit him that he’s recruiting James Jansen for his shitty play.
“You need another drink, Jim.” He takes my glass before I can argue and walks back inside.
Now only the twins and I share the balcony.
I look over at them and smile again.
“Evening, ladies.”
They smile back, far younger than I first thought. Hardly twenty.
One of them says, “Could you help us settle a bet?”
Everything is buzzing. This may be the best I’ve felt my whole life. I step toward them. Champagne and strawberries on their breaths.
“My sister, Dawn, says you’re that movie star, James Jansen. But I don’t think you are. I think you just look like him. Who’s right? I got twenty bucks riding on this.”
“You’re right,” I say, giving her this soul-penetrating stare.
“So you aren’t him?”
“Nope.” But I say it like I don’t mean it. Real flirtatious-like. She laughs and sips her champagne. “You’re pretty cute in person.”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
She steps closer and her sister comes around the other side so they’ve got me backed up against the railing.
“We had another bet,” Dawn says.
“What’s that?”
“I bet Heather a hundred dollars you’d come home with us. You wouldn’t let me lose that money, would you?”
“I’d hate to cost you money,” I say. And I would. Man, these women smell good.
“All right, stand aside.” Matt reaches a hand between the twins and I take my glass of vodka.
“Do we know each other?” he asks, looking at Heather and then Dawn. He doesn’t say it meanly, and I guess it’s a reasonable question. Heather and Dawn glance at each other, and I wonder if they’re communicating in some special twin way. Matt looks at me.
“Everything cool, Jim?”
“Aces.”
He smiles that oh-I-know-what-you’re-up-to smile. And he’s right. I am up to it.
“Oh to be you. Well, then. I’ll leave you three. Jim, come find me before you leave, and I’ll give you that script.” He winks at me and walks inside, and before my attention turns back to the women, I get to wondering whatever happened to Wittig. Scanning the dim, flashy living room, music pumping through the glass, I finally see him: a short, tweed-suit sporting, gray-bearded man, martini glass raised, in the thick of that dancing colony, sandwiched between two tall, slim men.
Chapter 5
his caterpillar ~ why they can’t stay at the Waldorf ~ the triangle of goodness ~ the joy of twins ~ the contents of their refrigerator ~ doesn’t even say goodbye ~ the diner called DINER ~ it’s all chemicals ~ studies his lines ~ Dr. Lovejoy
Four years ago, I carved a deep gash into my chin with a razor. On purpose. It bled for six hours before I realized I needed stitches. It took four to close the wound, but I got what I wanted—a quarter-inch scar on the left side of my chin nearly identical to the one on Jansen’s.
It looks like the footprint of an eight-legged caterpillar now, and the twin with short hair is touching it as we sit in the backseat of a cab, en route to their pad, as they call it.
“That is the most precious little scar I’ve ever seen,” she says. “Look at this, Dawn.”
“Oh God, that’s cute. How’d it happen?”
“I walked into the corner of a car door on the set of Greener Grass.”
These women can’t keep their hands off me. I’m sitting in the middle of the backseat, one on either side of me, focusing on their luxurious smell rather than the cab funk.
“Where the fuck are you going, dude?” Dawn yells at the cabby. “I said East Thirty-Seventh and Lexington—”