“My friend Floyd.” Timothy points at the wall, where a photo of Floyd and his two kids hangs—but Gertie has already passed by and doesn’t see it. She’s not actually trailing scarves and bits of lace and gauze behind her, but something about the way she flows from room to room gives the definite impression that she is.
“Look at this fireplace!” she cries. “It’s soNew England.I do love a stone fireplace, in a climate where you can imagine needing it to stay warm in the winter. And, oh, these windows here—tasteful and not ostentatious. It’s Luxury Lite.” Timothy rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. It’s a very good description. “Do I know this Floyd?” Gertie’s back on the deck now, calling to him from there.
By the time Timothy and Gertie wed, Timothy’s life had become far more Hollywood and much less Rhode Island, and the only people from his past in attendance at their nuptials had been Amy, Greg, Sam, and Henry, and Amy and Timothy’s mother.
Gertie pops her head back in, eyebrows raised. “Do I? Know Floyd?”
“Nope,” says Timothy. “You’ve never had the pleasure. We weren’t married long enough.”
“Trust me,” says Gertie. “We were married long enough.”
Timothy ignores this. “Speaking of pleasure, Gertie, to what, specifically, do I owethispleasure? The pleasure of your arrival here, today?” He follows her out to the deck.
“You always told me you couldn’t wait to get off this island,” says Gertie, as though he hasn’t asked a question about an entirely different topic. “But now that I’m here, I have to ask...why?” She leans her elbows on the railing and puts her chin in her hands and gazes out.Gertie Sanger enjoys a reprieve from her busy life,might read the caption in a magazine article about Gertie’s Shakespeare summer. “To me this looks like paradise.”
Timothy sighs. “Do I have to spell it out?”
“Please do,” Gertie says dreamily. “Please spell it right out.”
Timothy joins her at the railing, keeping a careful distance from his elbow to hers. Elbows can be so fraught. “For one thing, we didn’t live in a house likethis. We lived in a ranch in the dead center of the island. I know it’s an island, and it’s not that big, but from our house you actually had to work to see the ocean. The airport, we could see with no problem. But there were days when you could just as easily have been in Ohio. For another—can you imagine the winters here? You’re seeing the island right now on its very best behavior. But let me set you a different scene, if you please. It’s early March. It’s been raining for a solid week. Ferries were canceled three days in a row. You haven’t left the island since you went Christmas shopping in early December, except for the time you made a day trip to get a tooth pulled in Point Judith.” Gertie winces, which Timothy thinks is very kind of her. Gertie was born with perfect teeth; she’s never had one pulled in her life. “So you’re standing in this cold, driving rain, and you know there’s a world out there where people live in California, where people aresurfingin January anddrinking cocktails outside,and the sun is always shining—”
“There’s June Gloom,” says Gertie. “The sun isn’t always shining in California! People always forget about June Gloom.”
“Well, I know thatnow.But back then I didn’t. Back then I just wanted out.”
“Also, California is either burning or quaking, or it’s melting. It’s going to be the first to go when climate change takes hold.”
“I’m pretty sure climate change has already taken hold,” says Timothy.
“That’s true.” For a moment Gertie looks sad. Now that they’re outside, in the unforgiving natural light, he can see that the delicate skin underneath her eyes is webbed through with very,veryfine lines. Nothing the right lighting won’t hide for a few more years. But. Not forever. Gertie’s idea of going back to her theater roots is wise and also brave. She hasn’t done theater since her Juilliard days, when she was plucked from a lineup of talented (but less talented than Gertie) and beautiful (but less beautiful than Gertie) acting majors to audition for a supporting role playing Pacino’s daughter in a heist film set on the Turkish coast. She got the part, and she never looked back.
“So, Blake,” says Timothy. “Is he coming? Will he be here this summer?”
“Oh, no,” says Gertie. “Nope. Not until the opening. That’s why I’m trying to figure out these problems that have cropped up.”
“What problems?” Timothy fixes his gaze on the wind farm while Gertie talks. Issues with housing for the actors. The costume designer’s first check bounced. No rehearsal space yet secured. Shoddy communication with the casting director. “And we probably need to hire a part-time dramaturg,” says Gertie. “But Blake’s never even heard of a dramaturg.”
“Why isn’t Blake here, dealing with any of this?”
Gertie frowns. “It’s not a good idea. For us to be in the same place, Blake and me. That’s why he’s where he is, and I’m here.”
“Geez, Gerts,” he says. “Where’d yougetthis guy?”
“I got him...” Her voice trails off uncertainly. “Does it matter?” Timothy doesn’t answer.Doesit matter? Is Gertie sleepingwith Blake? Well, she’s an adult. She’s allowed to bed whomever she wants to bed. If it weren’t for Timothy’s wandering eye, they might still be together, after all! Gertie is monogamous by nature; she never wanted to look for a different partner. She wanted to grow old on a porch with him somewhere, she’d always said.
(Look at them now, though! They’re on a porch! Well, it’s a deck. But close enough.)
“He was fine when we were working with the theater in Connecticut, because most of this stuff was established there, you know? But the pivot to the island sort of threw him. He’s not really a details guy. He’s not super familiar with how theater works.”
“And now we need a details guy.”
“Exactly. Or gal. We need a production manager.”
“Hmm,” says Timothy. “What’s the budget?”
“That’s the thing. Blake is tricky.” She catches her lower lip with her teeth. “He was reluctant to give Block Island a shot. So I sort of told him... well, I sort of told him that the theater came with a production manager. And now I can’t really go back and ask him for another position. He’ll get weird about it. He’s funny about things sometimes.”
“Gertie!”
