Timothy
The show goes on like this for all twelve nights of the run. Because of theTimespieceMuch Ado About Nothingis suddenly the hottest ticket anywhere—hotter than anything in Connecticut, or Maine, or at Williamstown. Shelly Salazar reports that she has so many requests for house seats she can hardly answer them all, never mind fulfill the requests. (Finally, Shelly Salazar is doing her job!)
A reviewer from theWashington Postwants to come, a writer fromVariety, from theHollywood Reporter,from theBoston Globe.Shelly has to pick and choose among the requests—she has to prioritize. There simply aren’t enough seats for everyone; there simply aren’t enough nights.
Timothy wants to freeze time right where they are now, at the end of the eighth night, with three shows to go. Not the night of the last show—that’s too sad. Not the night of the first show—things felt too wobbly and uncertain then, and nobody knew how the play would be received.
The next morning Timothy wakes with the idea of extending the run through Labor Day. It’s not like the Empire Theatre has a whole summer season planned. All he has to do is ask Vinny St. James if he can pay more money for more time. He holds theidea to him like a promise, like a winning poker hand, and in the middle of the morning, when Gertie knocks on his bedroom door, fresh from the shower, wearing only a robe, he broaches it. She leans against the door, and he sits in the straight-backed chair in the corner, leaning forward. He’s close enough that he could touch her (and lord knows hewantsto touch her), but he doesn’t. He just talks. She listens while he tells her what he’s thinking, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. When he’s finished he sits back expectantly, and she shakes her head.
“I can’t do more nights, Timothy,” she tells him.
“What? Why not?” He’s legitimately surprised. “The tickets are selling themselves. The profit is there, for Blake. Why would anyone leave Block Island before Labor Day if they didn’t have to? Late August is the best part of summer in New England!”
Gertie points at the bed, he nods, and she settles back on top of the comforter, her legs crossed demurely at the ankles—or anyway, as demurely as a person wearing nothing but a robe can do anything. “I told you at the beginning of all this, I’m expected in Portugal on the twenty-fifth to start shootingDeath by Proxy.”
“Push it,” suggests Timothy. (She had told him, but he’d forgotten.)
“I can’t push it. My start date is locked.”
Timothy rises from the chair and lies down on the bed next to Gertie. He nuzzles his face into the side of Gertie’s neck and says, “Maybe I’ll go with you. I love Portugal. I can hang out in your trailer, bring you glasses ofvinho verde. I could be your boy toy.”
He feels a shift in the atmosphere. Gertie puts one of her hands on top of his. “No, thank you,” she says politely—even primly. She sits up, her back against one of the two big square pillows, and tucks her legs under her, spreading the robe over her knees like a blanket.
“To which part? I was kidding about the boy toy thing. Mostly.Although I’d be happy to oblige. Obviously.” He considers winking, but that might be a bridge too far. Along with the robe, she’s wearing a funny expression.
“No, thank you to all of it, is what I mean.” She retightens the bathrobe belt where it’s come loose.
“Toall of it?”
“Timothy. This was fun between us this summer, but that’s all it was. Fun. A summer romance.”
He arches the famous eyebrow at her, but she’s not meeting his gaze. “It doesn’t have to be, Gertie. It could be bigger than that. It could be like it used to be.”
She rises from the bed and stands beside it. “No,” she says. “I can’t do that, Timothy. I’m not interested in going back to where we once were. I’m going to Portugal on my own.”
“But where we once were was amazing! You know it was.”
“It was,” she says. “At one time, it was amazing. And you took that away from us, when you started up with half of Hollywood.”
Can a heart deflate? Timothy isn’t sure, but if it’s possible, his just did. “Give me another chance. Please, Gertie. We’re so good together. I didn’t appreciate it before, the way I should have. But I appreciate it now! I won’t disappoint you.”
Gertie considers him. “You know, Timothy. Sometimes I feel like I’m still that wide-eyed girl at Juilliard, scared out of my damn mind—”
Again with the Juilliard, Timothy thinks. But he says, “That bar with the sinks full of ice, right?”
“Right,” says Gertie. “But the point is that sometimes I feel likethatgirl, and sometimes I feel one hundred years old and just sort of over the whole thing, you know? The whole fame thing, the whole acting thing. Sometimes I don’t know how to keep finding the joy. But if there’s anything I learned from us, or rather I guess I should say from the end of us, it’s that I have to find that joy on my own. I can’t depend on you for that. You broke my heart, Timothy. Really and truly, you broke it. And I’ve never recovered. Not all the way.”
He feels a sharp pain behind his eyes, and in the center of his body, between his ribs. Is this where his soul lives? Does hissoulhurt? “I’m sorry, Gertie. My darling. I know I did. I know how foolish I was. And I’m so sorry.”
“I believe you,” she says gently. “I do believe that. But that doesn’t undo it, you see. I can’t go back to a time before you hurt me. I have to live at a different angle from you than I did in the past. That was the cost of all of it.”
The morning light filtering in through the window illuminates her face like the softest stage light. Gertie Sanger. The famous bone structure, the light green eyes, the alabaster skin. It’s a face so familiar to so many people, but he always thought it was most familiar to him because he got to see it in every one of its guises: terror and ecstasy and melancholy and grief and joy and hope and fear. Now he understands that she’s been holding a part of herself back from him all summer, and that what she’s been showing him is the same thing she’s been showing everyone else. Even in bed, even without clothes, she has kept a part of herself covered. To protect herself, so that he can’t hurt her again.
“You’re right,” he says finally. “Gertie, you’re right.” There’s something sad in Gertie’s face—but there’s something brave there too, and the brave part is what finally makes his heart crack.
“This show was everything I wanted it to be, Timothy. ThatTimesreview was more than I dreamed of.”
“Thanks to Sam for getting the reviewer there.”
