Acts of Love (55 page)

“Because it wouldn't have changed anything else. My stoop, my leg, my face . . . We did talk about it and I told you I'd look pathetic: trying to be something I wasn't, pretending to be young and pretty. I wouldn't look any different just because my hair was another color.”

“Well, we have a difference of opinion on that. We should do a test to find out. It is a great look, you know, especially when you're forty. Like you. And Helen.”

Jessica's face hardened. “I will never look like Helen.”

“Then God damn it,
make her look like you!

A startled look flickered across Jessica's face. Of course. That was what she always did. How could she have forgotten it? You're an actress, she told herself. Make her look like you. You're an actress; make the audience believe she looks like you. Make them believe Helen
is
you. You can do that. You haven't forgotten how. Because you're an actress.

A wild excitement began to build inside her.
I'm going back. I'm going back.
Tears slid down her face. She was afraid, she was exuberant, she was joyful, she was hollow with fear.
I'll try. Dear God, I will try.

Oh, Constance, I wish you were here now.

I wish Luke was here.

Hermione, her heart pounding, took a long breath and slowly let the muscles in her neck and stomach relax. She had a terrific headache—but who cared about that? Nothing was important now but the look of vivid excitement on Jessie's face  . . . and how much work they had to do in the next few days. But that didn't matter either. They'd get it done. They'd get everything done, she thought jubilantly. Because the hardest part was over.

She handed Jessica a tissue and took her in her arms. “Okay,” she said softly. “Not to worry. We're together in this. We're a hell of a team, remember?”

Jessica nodded. She was wiping her eyes, but the tears still came. “Please talk to me until I can stop crying.”

“Well, let's see. I've already talked to Wardrobe about altering Angela's clothes for Lucy, so they can deal with making everything a couple sizes smaller; they're wizards over there; they'll take care of it. You'll have a fitting tomorrow. What else? Your hair. That'll be tomorrow, too; I know Sistie will fit us in; she's the best hair colorist in the world. Makeup . . . well, that's easy. I'm sure you're an expert at it, but you haven't done it for a while so we'll ask one of our local experts for help, just to make sure, and to see that it works with the lighting. We may want to change the lighting, too, to do the absolute best by you; better talk about that tomorrow morning. How about seven o'clock with Dan, at the theater, to begin reblocking the show? I'll bring breakfast. Angela told me she's definitely staying through the week, so we won't dump this on the cast until Saturday; that gives us the weekend plus Monday to put everything together—lights, blocking, three rehearsals with the cast, wardrobe, makeup, props—you may want to change a few things when you start using them. How does all that sound?”

“Six rehearsals. Probably more.”

“What?”

Jessica kissed Hermione's cheek and sat straight, freeing herself from her embrace. “Two rehearsals a day, maybe three. We have a lot to learn and we'll go through the play as many times as it takes to learn it all. Also, you'll have to call the publicity people for new posters for the lobby; we need to have them for approval in two days so they'll be ready for the weekend, when people come to the box office to buy tickets. Be sure to tell the house manager what's going on. And call the printing company; we need an insert in the program for Tuesday: a loose sheet we can slip in, announcing the change, with a short paragraph about me. I'll write that tonight when I get home. And publicity has to get out a press release for Sunday. Not before; I don't want Angela, or anyone else, thinking we're trying to upstage the preview week. Also the newspaper ads have to be changed; you ought to be able to do that with a phone call, but somebody should proofread the new ad. Can you think of anything else?”

“I'm having trouble thinking of anything but you.” Hermione gave a small salute. “To a courageous lady. I love you.”

“No, wait, there is something else. Hermione, what are we talking about? You know I can't act in Australia; I'm not a member of MEAA. I didn't need to be, as a director, but every actor does. And they're always Australian; you know how protective they are here. How could we even think I could do this?”

“If they're famous enough, they can work here. Glenn Close could do it. Bernadette Peters could do it. Jessica Fontaine could do it. But you're right; it's a lot easier if you're a member of the actors union.” Hermione raised her wineglass. “I propose a toast. Come on, it's about time you tried this wine.” When Jessica picked up her glass, she went on, “To my dearest friend, Jessica Fontaine, who has been a member of Media and Entertainers Arts Alliance for over a month, ever since I took it upon myself to sign her up.” She beamed again. “Are you going to join me in this toast or not?”

“You made me a member—?”

“Well, how could I predict what was going to happen down the road? It was like taking out an insurance policy. And now it's paying off. Jessie? Are we drinking to this?”

Jessica touched her wineglass to Hermione's. “Thank you. I know you meant well. Even though you were—”

“Butting in. You're absolutely right. But I knew damn well you wouldn't do it yourself, so I had to. And it's a good thing I did, because look where we are. About to launch your newest career.”

There was a pause. “Do you know how terrified I am?” Jessica asked.

“That's okay, at least for a while.”

“I told Lucinda that scared was okay but terrified wasn't.”

“She's not in your shoes. Anyway, you'll get over it as soon as we get to work.”

“I never got over having stage fright.”

“Then my guess is you'll have it again. It is not on my list of things to worry about.”

“What is?”

“I have no intention of telling you. It might disturb your concentration. Now I have a suggestion. Let's have a quick dinner so we can get to the theater, and afterwards come back here and talk about everything in the world but work. It'll be our one small break before the next few days, when we are going to eat and sleep and breathe this play. What do you think?”

“If we can do it.”

“Of course we can.”

But they could not. They went to the theater, where Angela gave one of her best performances before an enthusiastic audience, and came back to Hermione's house talking about the weather and assorted uninteresting topics until they stepped into the living room and at once began talking about the play. They talked for hours, until Jessica said she had to go home. “I don't know if I'll sleep, but I ought to try.”

“Pretend. It's almost as good as the real thing.”

Hope dashed rapturously around her when she came in, and because the rain had stopped Jessica took her outside on her leash instead of letting her into the small yard. They did not walk far, but it felt good to be out and moving, even slowly, even limping. The sky was still overcast, the strange yellow-orange sky of cities at night, and she thought of the velvety blackness of Lopez, with the stars clustered thickly and brilliantly above her house, and the Milky Way a scattered path from horizon to horizon. My safe haven, she thought. And now everything I do takes me farther away from it.

For years she had been sure she was doing the best thing, choosing solitude, staying away from the stage. How could she be sure that what she was about to do now was the best thing?

She sat at the dining room table with Hope curled up at her feet and began to write the insert for Monday night's program.

The role of Helen has been assumed by the American actress Jessica Fontaine, who is also the play's director.

Jessica Fontaine has appeared previously with the Sydney Theater Company in
All's Well That Ends Well
and
The
Crucible.
In America, England and Canada, she has starred in
Anna Christie, The Country Girl, How Green Was My Valley, The
Importance of Being Earnest, Mrs. Warren's Profession,

She stopped writing, and read over the list of plays. So many triumphs. These plus another two dozen. All of them triumphs, for her or for her and Constance. The two of them had dominated the American stage until Constance retired, and then Jessica dominated it herself, with one great success after another. How could she think of presenting herself to an audience as that actress? “Fraud!” they would cry. “She's not Jessica Fontaine. She's a fake. Who's she trying to fool?”

She put her head in her hands and sat for a long time. Finally she went to the kitchen to make tea. Constance, I need you, she thought as she waited for the water to boil. I need wise words from someone who knows as much about the theater as I do, and who knows me. I need someone who knows what I once did, what I might do again.

Constance had written about working through fear, she recalled. It had been in a letter written close to the time she died. It shouldn't be too hard to find.

The water boiled and she poured it into the teapot, then went to get the box of Constance's letters. On the way, she passed the fax machine. A letter was waiting for her.

My love, this will be short, but I'll write again soon. It's after three in the morning; I've been sitting in a bar talking and drinking Scotch—I never drink Scotch except when I'm excited about something—with an actor who may be the male lead for Kent's play. I saw him in a play at the Westside Theater and in five minutes I was pretty sure he was what Monte and I are looking for. I'd seen him before, but Kent's script made me think of him in a new way. You'd like him: he's got a deceptively easygoing style that barely masks a terrific amount of tension. Audiences love him (I've seen the play three times).

We buried Claudia yesterday. Monte, Gladys and I were the only people there, other than a minister we found, who, of course, did not know her and talked about her as if she were an anonymous woman who died in a vacuum. It was one of the saddest days of my life. I remember there was a short time, years ago, when she talked about bouncing back—she liked the image, as if she were buoyant, airy, untethered—and finding herself, or maybe a new self. I wish I could have helped her do that. I wish she could have found her own way to do it.

The snow is gone, the tulips are up, I miss you. All my love, Luke.

She went back to the dining room table. It was not Constance she wanted, or letters. It was Luke.

Luke, I'm going to play Helen in
Journeys End.
I'll explain it all later, but right now I need someone with me besides Hermione; I need you. Could you come to Sydney? Could you come right away? Jessica.

At seven o'clock the next morning she was at the theater with Dan Clanagh and Hermione, sitting at the desk in Helen's living room on the turntable closest to the audience. Barely paying attention to their breakfast of coffee and croissants, they began to reblock the play, diagramming everyone's movements so that Helen's were reduced to a minimum and the others' were changed to bring them into her orbit. Jessica was tight and nervous as they began to read lines that led to specific actions. Dan and Hermione read from scripts; Jessica spoke her lines as if she were already Helen. “This would have been a good idea, even with Angela,” Hermione said, watching Dan, taking Edward's part, move around Jessica. “It makes Helen much more central; it enhances her own attitude of self-importance. We should have thought of it earlier.”

“Angela would have loved it,” Jessica said with a smile.

“It would have scared Lucinda,” Dan said. “Too heavy of a burden.”

Hermione and Jessica gazed at him in bemusement. “Do you have us all analyzed and categorized?” Hermione asked.

He gave a small, wicked smile. “You can't stage-manage people if you're being taken by surprise all the time. You need to be ahead of everybody.”

“But you never make suggestions,” Jessica said.

“You never asked.”

She nodded. “Okay, what do you think about my playing Helen?”

“Terrific. You don't feel superior to her—which Angela did—and you're not afraid of her—which Lucinda was. You'll be great”

Hermione and Jessica exchanged a look and burst out laughing. “How simple everything is,” Jessica said. “Thank you, Dan. That means more to me than almost anything.” They went back to work and by ten o'clock they had finished the first two acts, and were putting their diagrams away as the cast and crew arrived for rehearsal.

Edward went to Hermione and stood close to her, crowding her. “Angela is leaving and no one can find Lucinda.” He looked slightly rumpled, and the folds in his face seemed to have deepened into permanent depression. “Everything is falling apart.”

“Give me some space,” Hermione said tartly. More gently, she said, “I'll be delighted to answer all your questions, but first I have an announcement. Angela will be with us through Friday, the last night of previews. Lucinda has been asked to read for a major part in a new production in Melbourne, and that is where she really wants to be right now and I would not stand in her way.”

“She's gone?” Edward cried.

“What the hell,” Whitbread exclaimed. “I mean,
what the hell!”

“She told me,” Angela said. “Does that mean you're canceling opening night?”

“We can't,” Nora moaned. “We have to open. We can't let it die, not after all this work.”

Hermione waited patiently. “We open Tuesday night; that hasn't changed. What has changed is the person playing Helen. That will be Jessica, who has graciously consented to—”