To make herself smile she recalls a conversation she and Timothy had after David’s funeral, some twenty-five years ago. (A massive heart attack in his sleep; it could have been worse, but of course, it could have been better too. He could have lived longer.)
“For all intensive purposes he was my dad too,” Timothy said at one point, as they stood near the bar at the post-funeral gathering, pouring out generous servings of whiskey.
“I’m sorry,what?”she’d said. “What did you just say?”
He mistook her reaction for being offended. “He was, Ame! Hewas in my life from when I was five. He’s the only father I knew. He gave me his name!”
“No, that’s not what I’m reacting to. Did you just sayfor all intensive purposes?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Amy was actively grieving, but she could scarcely stifle a laugh. “The phrase isfor all intents. And. Purposes.Notall intensive purposes.”
“No, it’s not,” said Timothy. Amy grabbed a cocktail napkin from the hors d’oeuvre table, scribbled the two phrases down, and he squinted at the napkin, then laughed. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, okay.” But she sensed something behind the laugh: deep down, he was smarting from the correction. She sometimes forgot that he’d been a mediocre high school student, and that he’d gone to college for only a year. His voice was so commanding, his very presence was so commanding, even back then, that he presented like someone with advanced degrees in at least five different subjects.
Amy was working on her master’s in education, teaching. And here was Timothy, buying a house in Laurel Canyon. Selling that one; buying one in Beverly Crest, then the one where he still lives today, in Benedict Canyon. Vacationing in French Polynesia, Tuscany, Norway.
He was everywhere, and yet farther from Amy’s grasp. More movies.Wonderful.You Can Go Home Again.We Were So Young. Dating Gertie Sanger, then marrying her.Committed People. He was as familiar, and also as untouchable, as the Big Dipper.
“Intensive purposes,” she says aloud, giggling. She keeps her eyes peeled for the barn. She watches for pedestrians; she brakes for a clot of moped drivers who have stoppedright in the middle of the street to chat.She takes a mental voyage through all the summer jobs she held here in the past. Desk clerk at the Narragansett Inn. Beach chair girl at Ballard’s. Ice cream scooper at The Ice Cream Place. The two weeks she spent as a chambermaid—shehadn’t lasted long at that job. She’d been a terrible chambermaid, constantly undone by the thought of what had gone on in the sheets she was changing.
Before she knows it she’s arrived at the barn, on the west side of Corn Neck Road. She’s beat the Realtor there, so she parks and wanders around and tries to peek in the windows, which are impenetrable, owing either to the lack of light inside the barn or good old-fashioned dirt. So busy is Amy with her spying that she’s spooked when someone comes up behind her and says, “Hello there! So you’re looking to buy?”
Amy jumps and whips around to see a tiny woman in unnecessarily high heels. “You must be Joanne.” Joanne nods and holds out a hand; they shake. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t give the wrong impression. I’m looking to rent, just through July.”
Joanne purses pink lips. “Just through July?”
“Yes. For rehearsal space for a production in August at the Empire Theatre.”
Joanne sighs. “I can show it to you, but I don’t know if that’ll work. I’d have to take it off the market—and the owner is set on selling...”
“Let’s take a look,” says Amy. There’s no time to find another rehearsal space, and she’s certainly not above name-dropping if it comes to it.
Inside, though there are no stalls, no hay, the unmistakable odor of horses gone by lingers in the air. A fly buzzes around Joanne’s head and she swats at it, and off the fly goes, charting courses unknown. Who can say what sort of critters are hiding elsewhere? Nevertheless, the lights Joanne flicks on are strong and far-reaching, the concrete floor is level and looks as if it could be easily taped to delineate the stage and the actors’ marks.
“Nothing a good airing out can’t fix,” Amy says brightly. “A few big fans in the corner, a good scrubbing.” (Can Amy hire Sam to scrub the barn?) “What’s the fee for a month?”
Joanne swats again at the same (or a different?) fly. “That’s what I’m saying, see. It’s not for rent.”
Amy draws in a breath, and when she lets it out she says, “I’m sure you’re familiar with Gertie Sanger.”
Joanne’s eyes grow wide, then wider. She nods. “Of course.”
“And probably also Timothy Fleming.” Another nod. “That’s who’s here, working on this play. It’s big-time, Joanne. It’s going to bring the island a lot of attention. A lot of tourist dollars. Heck, maybe even more people looking to buy homes here.” Joanne’s eyebrows go up. “And we really, really need a place to rehearse. I mean, I can’t imagine telling Gertie Sanger I wasn’t able to find her the space she wanted.” Amy shakes her head regretfully, as though playing out Gertie’s reaction. “And I can’t imagine you’re going to sell it before the end of June, which means nobody would be closing on it before July is over, right? I’m not a Realtor, but I know these things take a while.” She fixes Joanne with a stern and expectant look, the one she uses on students late with an assignment.
It’s almost visible, almost audible, the act of Joanne relenting. “I’ll have to talk to the owner,” she says. “But you know what, Amy? I bet we can work something out. I’ll let you know for sure this afternoon.”
When Amy pulls back onto Corn Neck Road she’s feeling pleased with herself and her negotiating skills. She decides to check out the theater. She parks in the ferry parking and crosses Water Street, turning left toward the Empire. She uses the key Timothy gave her and opens the door, cautiously at first, then with the strength and authority she supposes she should feel.
She takes a gander at the stage. The curtain is missing. She pulls her notebook out of her bag and writes:1. Curtain.Next she walks up and down the aisles, looking at the seats. She counts four that are visibly broken, but there may be more, once she makes a closer inspection. She writes:2. Seats.
In the concession area she spies a popcorn machine that looks like it hasn’t been used since Kurt Cobain was alive. She writes:3. Concession area.
What else? Bathrooms, probably. But before she can investigate her phone rings: Joanne. Yes. Yes, Amy can meet her back at the barn to go over a few details. Yes, she’s ready to sign a lease and pull together the rental fee. Yes yes yes.
She’ll be back tomorrow. She’ll make a more comprehensive list, and she’ll get started. Okay! Shoulders back, chin up. Okay, Amy. Let’s do this.
Sam
