in voice, in movement,
the men were not nameless now, not shopkeepers either,
she had a good eye.
they were a different sort now, actors, writers, directors,
she knew how to move in, just enough,
she knew how to be there and to disappear at the same time,
when to disappear.
her smile, always ready, a mask, enigmatic or reassuring, whatever
was necessary,
her ambition began to enlarge.
she had read books, enough of them, still, one was always open on
her night table, she was conversant with acting theory, she
discovered that she had an intelligence and a tongue, she could
speak clearly and strongly, but not too often, never at the wrong
time, never the wrong thing.
she began to develop her own persona, no longer a shapeless piece
of putty where each man could make his own mark, she began to
have a definite form, some opinions, a consistent though flexible
posture, a strong woman, they said, independent, they said, a
woman who didnt hang on.
her third acting exercise, never let her insides show,
it was a calculated strength, designed to appeal to a certain kind of
man. she had determined who needed what.
the one she loved was not the father of this child.
the one she loved, how did she see him, not as she saw and had
always seen the others, she didnt see him as he wanted to be seen,
never believing it herself, she believed it, anything he wanted her to
believe.
she saw a great man.
the one she loved was a consummate actor, a pretender, a
charlatan, a liar, and a cheat.
sensitive, she thought, a genius, delicate, not like other men. kind
and deep and searching, not like other men.
here it converged, her ambition and her longing, he had touched
her, deep, inside, forever.
she had come to New York wanting to meet this man or someone
just like him, someone with precisely those eyes, that stare, that intense focus, someone with that fame.
she had met him one winter when she was teaching voice, his climb
to the top had been ruthless and clever but not in the obvious way. he
was a deceiver, a manipulator, good at keeping things hidden, someone who always covered his tracks, a certain kind of animal, smelling what he needed and taking it, then covering up his tracks, not like
other men with a brutal sweep of the hand, no, not like that, instead
gently, quietly, effectively, finally,
he was a homosexual, or so he said.
their discussions were long and deep, about work in the theatre,
about the human voice, about pain, about suffering, about death.
they would sit in his almost empty apartment on straightbacked
chairs, hands just touching, he would pour wine and stare at her and
into her.
she did not forget everything, she remembered what she wanted,
she wanted this man to love her.
this was no ordinary man. he liked smart women, strong women,
women who could work and talk and think and earn money, he was
a collector of such women but that she did not know. I am the only
one, she thought, different from the rest, this man respects me, she
believed.
her heart went out to him. whatever she could do for him she did.
her work in voice became connected to his work in the theatre, she
taught his actors what he wanted them to know, those he did not
like, she eliminated from classes, those he was interested in, she
cultivated like flowers.
when he was sad or lonely, she would sit with him or lie with him.
when he was hungry, she would feed him or he would feed her.
nothing about this man was like other men. he would cook and
read poetry and speak only in the softest voice. I am the only one, she
thought, I am different, there is a place for me here,
and so she began to sleep with him and never made demands.
always, what he wanted, not what the others wanted, he did not tear
into her or delight in making her bleed.
sometimes they would eat together, and then she would go home,
sometimes he would read poetry, and then she would go home,
sometimes he would talk about his hard life of poverty and grief, and
how his mother had hated and betrayed him, and then she would go
home.
she did not notice that her life remained hidden from him. she did
not notice his cold indifference to her need to stay, or to talk about
her own grief and poverty, she told him nothing of her own mother,
or her murdered father, or the years of man after man and year after
year, she noticed only that he was different from the others and that
she was different from the others when she was with him.
then, he asked her to move in with him.
he took her hand tenderly and said that all his life he had wanted a
womans love and devotion, he said that they would be friends and
lovers, workers together on this project and that, he said that she was
not like other women, weak and dependent, and that he was not like
other men, arrogant and aggressive, he said that he would have his
own life and she would have hers, he said that he hoped she
understood that he was a homosexual and so he would continue to
have male lovers and of course they would each be free anyway to do
whatever they wanted, he said that he was a difficult person who had
had a hard life but that now he wanted to share his life, some of it,
with her. he warned her, over her protests, that he was a selfish person. he said that nothing much had worked out in his life with women and that he hoped this would be different now. he said that
he was willing to try if she was and on that heroic note, he stopped.
she moved in early the next morning, 3 suitcases of clothes and
assorted odds and ends, they had agreed that she would keep her
own apartment for a while, just in case her actual physical presence
did not really suit him. he said that they would not tell anyone quite
yet, in case it didnt work out.
the 3 suitcases seemed too final to him, so he sent her home again
and suggested that she return with just a few dresses that would not
cause much bother.
from the beginning she was determined to succeed, she made him
tea and coffee and tried to stay out of his way. to have no expectations, to make no demands, she smiled when she thought a smile would not be an intrusion and the rest of the time she practiced being self-sufficient, strong, independent, and marginally visible.
for 2 weeks they lived this way. in the day she taught and he had
appointments, she did not know who he saw or what they did. be an
ocean, she would tell her students, hands on their bellies as they
breathed in and out in waves, she would teach them how to breathe,
all the while unable to breathe herself, thoughts of where he was and
who he was with stuck in her chest.
she would arrive at his home at 6, in time for coffee or a drink,
then, he would go out. she did not know where, or with whom,
sometime after midnight he would return. I need to be alone, he
would say as he turned away from her on the bed or shut himself up