“Do you want me to calculate the chances of you laughing at me before we arrive at the Marquis?” Rina asked from the back of the car.
“One hundred percent?” Phoenix said.
She followed him into the theater. First time in a crowd on a custom-made stilt made him feel vulnerable. “Think I need a second crutch,” he said, putting his left arm around her.
“Would you like sparkling water or something?” he asked at the concessions stand.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to have to go to the bathroom during the performance.”
Which, of course, elicited guffaws of laughter from Phoenix.
Clutching bothPlaybillprograms, Rina followed Phoenix to their seats, located stage right. A young couple slouched in two seats adjacent to theirs. The woman looked at Phoenix’s cane and stepped into the aisle, pulling the guy with her.
“Sorry,” she said. Phoenix followed her stare down toward his feet.
“It’s okay,” he mumbled.When did the aisles get so damn narrow?And he had never noticed the slant before.
He managed to land in the upholstery, not on the ground. The older gentleman on the other side touched his elbow.
“Thank you for your service. Were you in Iraq? Or Afghanistan?”
“Neither. This was just a bad accident.”
The man’s wife craned her neck towards them. “Frank served in Vietnam. He always wants to make sure our military are appreciated, unlike the Vietnam vets.”
“Well, then, thankyoufor your service.” Phoenix leaned forward to lay his cane beneath his and Rina’s seats.
“What happened? If I may ask?”
“You know that exhibition of mechanical dinosaurs they’ve built over in Jersey?” he asked the couple.
The wife put a hand over her mouth. “You don’t mean?” her voice trailed off, her expression reflecting some imagined horror.
Rina smacked his arm.
The theater dimmed. Phoenix turned to face front. The stage lights shone to reveal a minimalist set: a blood-red sofa, plain table with hard-backed chairs and a Ming dynasty porcelain dog. Three characters played out a love triangle, where each party pined for an impossible relationship. The girl’s heart belonged to her best guy friend, who mainly hung around to be with her roommate. The roommate, in turn, was in love with the girl.
“Unrequited love. That sucked,” Phoenix joked as the final curtain fell. He pushed to a standing position.
The Vietnam vet extended a hand, forcing Phoenix to tuck his cane under his left elbow to grasp it.
“You’re a nice-looking couple.” The veteran’s wife twisted around the guys to tell Rina.
“Thanks,” she returned, smoothing her ash-shaded suit.
They shuffled out into the street with the crowd, his left arm around her. The driver awaited them curbside, as planned.
In the back of the car, Rina leaned against him.
“So, how’d you like your first show?”
“It was an experience. Artsy. Live theater is definitely different than a movie.”
They arrived at her rented brownstone on a quiet street. Phoenix pulled himself out of the car to accompany Rina to the door and kissed her cheek.
“Wouldn’t things be easier without that cane?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
