It was a Damascene moment that but I didn’t want it to be and afterwards I was consumed with guilt. I mean, the fucking ingratitude. I went straight home intending to confess. Halfway there I remembered he loved me and I’d never leave, no matter what, so telling was only unburdening myself. Just live with it, I thought And don’t do it again. Not bad advice really. For a while it even worked. I avoided her and wouldn’t when she’d ask me up. Told myself it was unnatural to be with a woman in her forties! I couldn’t stop thinking about her though, how it felt. Every time she touched me on stage I’d get a jolt. Luckily that works quite well for Konstantin, although she knew too and took her revenge — sitting way too close for the bandaging scene, lingering on kisses that little too long. Eventually the stress started fucking me up. I just wanted her so badly it made my teeth hurt. So one night, at the curtain call, I said in her ear I don’t like boys. She said Follow me. Which I did. Back to her dressing room. Waited until she’d turned the key and we went for each other then. She kept saying that she loved me and must’ve completely lost her head. I’m pretty sure I said it too because in that moment, I did. I was so fucking desperate for her. And, apparently, for another mistake.
Even in the midst of it the irony wasn’t completely lost — normal Konstantins bang Ninas and it was Arkadina I wanted. But it was easy for us to get away with — we’d been working together so long and everyone knew we were close. I didn’t even have to lie to him much. When I’d get in he’d always ask how she was and she was pretty insatiable. I was too I suppose. I just wanted her all the time, and that she let me lead helped me feel I was no one’s by right any more. And maybe because she was older — or maybe because of her child — it was important I be a man in that room, not a little boy.
The whole affair became incredibly intense and, in a lot of ways, it was great but I didn’t feel very good about the lying and started getting down about it. Started hating myself for doing it and her, for tempting me. To make it worse he worried about me getting depressed and kept encouraging me to do whatever might help, but he must have had some inkling because we stopped having sex.
Finally I couldn’t any more and told her we were done. She took it much worse than I’d expected because, despite all the I love you’s, I never thought she actually did. I mean, she was twenty years married. I assumed I was a fling. But when I said It’s over, she said It’s not. I love and I won’t let you go. Of course hearing that I completely lost my rag. We had an almighty row. Traded lots of vicious insults. It got all melodramatic. She slapped me in the face and I stormed off. But in bed with him that night I was relieved and we had sex for the first time in weeks.
The following day was a Sunday so I went for the papers while he stayed in bed. When I came back though he was stood in the hall. When I asked what was the matter, he said Guess who’s just called? and I fucking knew. She’d told him everything. I thought I was going to be sick. She’d said, most particularly, not to kid himself I was anything but straight. I started to apologise, got really upset. He, though, was very calm. Listen, he said I’m a romantic so I know you don’t love me the way I love you. I’d hoped, in time, but you’re not going to and a gratitude fuck’s only good for so much, so let’s just part ways now. I couldn’t conceive of it. Couldn’t imagine life without him. I tried to persuade him it wasn’t like that, she was a mistake I wouldn’t repeat but he said The problem is I think she’s right. I don’t think you really like men either, do you? Be honest with me. And then I couldn’t lie. I did care about him, loved him even, and he knew that, just not the right way. Not enough. He deserved better than what I could offer — certainly better than what I’d done. So I went upstairs and packed up my things.
When I left he said he didn’t want to see me again. The Seagull was winding down so that wasn’t a problem. But I didn’t know what to do. So I sat a while in a greasy spoon then thought Fuck this! And I took a bus to Hampstead — right to the wasp’s nest. Soon as she opened the door, I said I’m about to do to you what you’ve just done to me, unless you fancy putting me up for a couple of weeks? With her husband and their fifteen-year-old daughter indoors, she really couldn’t make a fuss. So that’s where I stayed, in her spare room, for the two weeks left to the end of the run. Her husband was no fool. He knew. The first night I overheard her swearing I was a rampant homosexual so he should stop being paranoid — oh how I fucking laughed at that! And I didn’t care how awkward it was. He and I kept it polite but her daughter got a crush. Used to follow me around, reading me her poems, asking me up to her room to listen to records. I always made my excuses but her irate mama repeatedly warned me off. That was never my thing though so she needn’t have bothered. Besides which, she spent most weekday afternoons fucking me all over her sitting-room floor — in the noble spirit of Let’s see the run out — so who’d have kept up with that?
Anyway, the guy playing Trigorin was leaving his room and it was pretty cheap. I kind of dreaded being alone but, at least, I was getting work. The loss of desperation was standing me in good stead and almost everything I went up for now, I got. So the week The Seagull closed I moved out of hers and I moved in here.
Funnily enough, things immediately improved with my ex — she and our daughter were in her parents’ Chelsea flat — and she began letting me have her overnight, would even drop her off at the theatre if she was going out. And I’d be so excited all day. Wanted everyone to see her. Loved getting to say This is my daughter. This is my little girl. If I wasn’t going to be off in time I’d beg some poor understudy or baby-mad wardrobe girl to babysit until I was. And it was amazing to have her there in the best part of my life, rubbing greasepaint off my cheek, saying Daddy your face smells strange! Well worth the fortune spent on thank-you flowers and boxes of Milk Tray. I’d just sit her on the dressing table while I got changed, then tuck her up under my arm and get the bus back here.
Those early months though I was often scared of having her here by myself. I did get used to it and it got easier in time but those first nights were hard.
Why?
My mother, he says The fear she was in me and would come out in ways I didn’t notice. So I kept a strict check on myself. Never lost my temper. Never said a cross word — even when she was driving me mad — but it was the overnights took a lot to get right. I just wanted to be a normal dad but the first time she slept over I was paralysed. She must’ve been nearly two by then. I remember getting her ready for bed. The feeding and washing and dressing was alright. Story. Turned out the light and then she wouldn’t go to sleep. Kept wanting me to get in with her and I didn’t know what to do, couldn’t cope with it. I sat up in that chair the whole night, staring out that window, not looking at her.
Why?
In case
In case of what?
I’d get turned on
You really thought you might?
I don’t know
my mother did.
When my mother looked at me she felt like that so
was that because of her or because of me?
Back then I wasn’t sure.
All I knew was if I did I’d call my ex and never let myself see her again and I really didn’t want that.