“Educational?”
“Well, you said you hadn’t seen very much.”
“Oh no.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to force you to sit throughCymbelineor anything.”
“You said this was a charity thing.”
“It is! Come on then, do you want a drink?” Swiftly, he steers her into an innocuous-looking entrance that descends into a mezzanine under the Globe. She trusts him implicitly, like one would trust a president, following him through a series of stairwells and into a dressing room, in which they find a woman with long blond hair and red glasses.
“Who is this?” the woman asks in a way that implies Viola is not the firstthisshe has been introduced to.
“This is Viola. Jen, would you get us something from the bar, please? A nice red, not too dry, not too fruity.”
“A Goldilocks red.”
“You’re an angel.”
Jen looks at Viola coolly. “He isn’t always this picky.”
“That isn’t fair. I’m a fairly discerning person.”
Jen smiles indulgently and steps out of the room.
“I’m sorry we can’t go anywhere normal around here,” he says. “It’s just such a hassle.”
“It’s fine,” Viola says. “The weather is better down here.”
“I like you,” he says. “You like a glass half full, don’t you?”
“Maybe I’m too idealistic.”
“Well, that’s just the tonic. Hollywood makes you cynical.” He drums his fingers on the table. “Admittedly, London isn’t Southern California weather-wise. The thing is, I’m always being asked to go onstage here. No one in California would dream of asking a movie actor to perform onstage. It’s just embarrassing, really, for most people. And most ofthe time I tell them to fuck off, or Jen tells them to fuck off, but it’s just hard to tell a charity for childhood diabetes to fuck off more than twice. It just starts to feel like you don’t care about childhood diabetes, which of course you might not feel any personal connection toward, but the kids really are sweet and they’re always sending photos of them, and if there’s something that you can do—something that should be easy, that should be your stock and trade—then, well, you want to do it. You want to be able to do something aside from swanning around and spending money and talking to pretty girls outside of pubs.”
His foot is tapping restlessly on the ground, and it occurs to Viola that even though he is twenty years older than her, he too might be nervous.
“I don’t understand why it would be different on stage than film,” Viola says. “Isn’t it all just acting?”
“Oh, there you’re wrong. Completely different. For one, if you fuck up on film, you can just do it again. Doesn’t matter. Take two. As many takes as you want to get it perfect. If you fuck up onstage, though, that’s it. You’ve blown your shot. Terrifying, really.”
Jen returns with a bottle of red wine and a bowl full of mixed nuts covered in a thin dust of cumin and cinnamon.
“They’re the ones from the hotel!” he said. “Jen figured it out for me, where to get them, she’s extremely clever like that. I thought it was just a crime that you didn’t get to try them.”
“A lot of phone calls went into those nuts,” Jen mutters. “So please, do enjoy them.”
“Jen is just sour because she has an allergy, aren’t you, Jen?”
Jen turns to a stack of papers in the corner.
“So, sorry,” Viola begins, trying to ignore Jen, who is trying very hard not to look wounded. “But what is this?”
Orson sighs, pours out the wine. “It’s aMidsummer Night’s Dream–themed charity fundraiser. For orphans, I think? Or a refugee crisis? Jen, did you write the speech?”
“What do you think I’m working on?”
“I have to read a monologue. Oberon, something about oxlips andnodding violet. It’s embarrassing really, I haven’t even memorized it, that’s the kind of shit film actor I am. Learn my lines right before the scene. They’ve printed it for me, haven’t they, Jen?”
