That’s easy, I go. She was in that Pepsi ad about a year ago and she gets residuals. I’ve seen the checks in her purse, two hundred, four hundred, they come in a couple of times a week and she cashes them in about a nanosecond.
That’s one mystery solved, Dean goes. The other thing Phil wants to know is who’s dealing it to her. Does she have a lot of dealers or mainly one?
I can’t tell him that, I go.
Dean goes, look, you want to help Didi, right? Phil isn’t going to turn the guy in or anything. He just wants to call him and tell him not to sell to Didi anymore.
I go, Emile isn’t like a social worker or something, you know. You expect him to just go, oh, dear, cocaine is bad for her, she’s actually abusing it, well, that’s very disturbing and I won’t sell her any more?
Believe me, Dean says, Phil knows how to convince him.
I’m still a little dubious, I mean this seems to go against all the rules of friendship and drug abuse, but then I realize it doesn’t really and if Didi winds up dead I’ll be partly responsible, and Emile’s a total creep and major reptile anyway. So yeah, okay, I tell Dean what he wants to know. But I also tell him that I don’t see how in hell Phil’s going to get her into rehab and I also say I’m really going to be furious if my name ever comes up. I know it’s for Didi’s own good, but I still feel kind of like I’m betraying her and I know that’s how she’d feel if she ever found out.
So what are you doing tonight? Dean goes after we’ve taken care of the Didi problem.
And I explain to him that he’s taking me out for an incredibly expensive meal and that he’ll receive further instructions after he picks me up and brings me about two dozen long-stemmed red roses from my favorite florist.
We’re still getting incoming calls a couple days later but I figure it’s only a day or two before they cut us off completely. The landlord’s lawyer has sent a letter telling us to be out by the end of the week. I’m like totally depressed. I don’t even have subway fare. I’m so depressed I don’t even go to class this morning—no way I’m walking sixty blocks, plus I just wouldn’t be any good so I stay home and watch the soaps. When Jeannie gets in she’s acting really weird, zipping around the apartment like a trapped bird or something, bouncing off the walls, tidying things, giving me shit for having my clothes thrown all over the place. Like, now what’s her problem?
Finally she goes, Alison, I got my half of the money.
That’s cool, I go. Did your father come through?
She nods.
Only half? I go.
My half, she goes.
Suddenly I don’t like the way she’s talking one little bit. Jeannie, I say, let me just point out for your benefit that I gave you the rent for March and April and you spent it. So let’s not have any of this my half shit. If you’re going to start using fractions on me then you better say my three-quarters or my seven-eighths.
Jeannie and the higher math. She never even heard of fractions until she started buying eighths and quarters from Emile.
Well, I could only get half out of my father, she goes. And that was on the condition that you pay the rest or else I have to find a new roommate. He thinks you’re irresponsible.
I’m like, I must be dreaming. Has Jeannie lost her mind or is it me? I go, he thinks I’m irresponsible? Me? I didn’t spend the goddamned rent money. Why does he think I’m irresponsible?
It was the only way I could get the money, she goes.
What was the only way? I go. Let me guess, you told him that I spent the rent money.
She doesn’t say anything.
That’s it, isn’t it? You bitch, I go, I can’t believe you’d do that to me. That’s really the lowest.
It was the only way I could get any money out of him, she whines. He wouldn’t have given me anything otherwise.
I’m like, you’re such a liar, Jeannie. I’m completely surrounded by liars.
I mean, I know you can’t trust men, and families are a lie from the start, based on the totally ridiculous notion that two people can be faithful to each other, but what else have you got in the world to count on besides friends? That’s about it, in my book, and when your friends start lying and cheating on you, Jesus, it’s hard not to be a total cynic.
It’s like, you can’t trust anybody, and if somebody you know doesn’t fuck you over it’s just because the price of selling you down the river was never high enough.
I’m sorry, Jeannie goes.
Just fuck off, okay? I go. I don’t want to hear it.
Jeannie starts to cry. Oh, Alison, she blubbers.
She tries to take my hand but I push hers away.
I’ll tell you something else, I go. If I ever fucked you over I wouldn’t be a wimp about it and start bawling. If I ever decide to treat you like you treated me I’ll know exactly why I’m doing it and I won’t think twice and I’ll laugh in your stupid face. That’s the difference between you and me. You’re a bitch but you’re not even good at it. And you better be good if you fuck with me. Because when it comes to being bad, I go, I’m good.
Let her chew on that for a while. I’m out of here. I’m so mad I can’t believe it.
I walk over to Dean’s place, which is like ten blocks but I don’t have cabfare. I don’t have shit. Thirty-five cents, four cigarettes and a barrette. Reminds me of that REM song, “It’s the End of the World As We Know It.”
I stop in front of a phone module, you could hardly call them booths, these weird little open-air units they have in New York now. Anyway, I call Francesca and get her machine—story of my life, talking to machines—which blows a quarter so now I’ve got like ten cents left. So I call Alex, my old squeeze, collect in Virginia. He answers and accepts charges and I’m like, I must be dreaming—something in my life today that didn’t fuck up. Unbelievable.
Alex is like, Alison, what’s happening?
And I go, what isn’t happening? If it sucks, it’s happened to me lately. I’m thinking of declaring myself a disaster area, you know, so I can get federal funds.
So I tell him about Dean and Jeannie and he’s real sympathetic, I don’t know, it’s just nice to have someone on my side. We’re best of friends now, I don’t know what I’d do without Alex, jump out a window probably. When you’ve known somebody half your life and slept with them for a quarter, I mean—you get close. He knows me better than anybody. Same with him for me. He’s family. Just ask Mom or Rebecca. They both were like, share and share alike. Popping up naked all over the place, like—oh dear, excuse me, I didn’t know Alex was here, how very embarrassing, let me just very slowly cover myself with this teeny little towel after he’s had a nice long look. I start thinking about this stuff while we’re talking when he suddenly says, listen, Alison, would you be real upset if I came up to visit you guys?
And I’m like, that would be wonderful. And then suddenly I figure something out and I go, what do you mean, you guys?
And he says, you and Jeannie.
You don’t even know Jeannie, I say. I mean, you’ve never met her.
I’ve talked to her on the phone, he goes.
You want to come up here and fuck Jeannie, I say. That’s it, right? If that’s the story, just say so.
I wouldn’t even think of it if it wasn’t cool with you, he says. Look, you sound upset, forget it, I’d never do anything to hurt you.
I don’t know, at first it’s like my stomach just drops out of my body and bounces on a little string just above the pavement. Alex was my first love. Hell, he was my only love and he helped me get over some things from my childhood, I mean when I met him my attitude about sex was what the early settlers must have thought about scalping—basically you’d rather be dead. Alex helped me over that, which is another reason this thing feels weird, him having the hots for Jeannie. If it were any other guy, no problem, hop right on. But then I think, well, why not, what do I care? If Alex wants to do it, he should, I don’t believe in unrequited lust and it’s not like we’re going out
anymore or like we have been for a long time. I can handle it, plus it would be good for Jeannie, even though I’m furious at her she’s still my oldest friend on the planet and she hasn’t been laid by anybody but Frank in years and just in case she’s thinking of getting back together with him this should show her that a secure future with Frank is like two weeks in Philadelphia except longer.
Come on up, I say. It’ll be good to see you.
I’ll call my travel agent and talk to you guys tomorrow. Meantime, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
Which maybe rules out murder, obviously not much else.
I think Dean’s doorman kind of likes me, he winks at me and lets me go right up. Guy’s from one of those Communist countries that sounds like a disease, what’s it called, where they used to have vampires and Dean’s always loaning him money because he’s completely in debt to these Korean gamblers who are going to kill him. Welcome to the free world, Igor.
Alison, Dean goes, when he opens the door. He’s like, what a nice surprise. He looks a little worried, like he’s got somebody in his bed already or something, but I guess maybe he’s just nervous about where we stand or maybe it’s my expression, which probably looks like a psycho killer about now, anyway he lets me in, kisses me on the cheek.
What’s the matter? I go.
I don’t know, he goes. The bond market is really bad.
You losing money?
He nods. So here we are, two seriously depressed units.
The phone starts ringing.
How about you? he goes. Are you okay?
Oh, yeah, I’m just super, I go, really sarcastic.
What’s the problem? he says.
What isn’t a problem? I go. That bitch Jeannie . . .
The answering machine picks up and after the beep I’m treated to this silky lingerie voice going, Dean, it’s Cassie, returning your call. I had the greatest dream about you, I can’t wait to tell you. I’ll be in tonight. Call me, angel. Don’t leave a kinky message, though, cause Peter knows my access code.
Dean shrugs, looking helpless, like—can I help it if they throw themselves at me?
Can I get you something? he goes. He looks kind of scared.
I’m just standing there in the hallway trying to decide what to do, whether to just turn around and leave. And I’m remembering that Cassie Hane goes out with Peter Finnegan, which suddenly is giving me some big ideas.
Alison? he goes. Are you all right? What’s the matter?
Fuck me, I go.
What? he says.
Let’s fuck, I go. Let’s just go into your bedroom and fuck, okay?
So we do. So I go in and lie down on the bed and he comes in and undresses me and plays with me. I don’t play with him but he doesn’t seem to mind—he better not—he gets inside me and I clench my teeth and grind against him and practically carve my initials in his back. I have my eyes closed, I don’t even look at him, and when I come it’s good but it’s not enough, not nearly, he comes with a sort of a shout and rolls off. I give him about three minutes, then I grab his cock and start yanking—he better have eaten his eggs today, he’s going to need them, I pull on his cock like it’s attached to a busted cigarette machine and I’m having a nicotine fit, he winces and gasps through his teeth, then I climb on top of him and hump and ride, he doesn’t know how lucky he is, the jerk, horsewomen have muscles he never dreamed of, doesn’t deserve, and after about ten minutes I come but I keep my mouth shut about it, this isn’t one of those beautiful sharing experiences, this is something else entirely.
Then he comes. Alison, he goes. Alison Alison Alison.
That’s my name. My parents gave it to me, the creeps. Alison Poole. I’m going to make goddamn sure he never forgets it.
I try. I want this to be enough, just this. Just contact, just friction. But it’s not. It doesn’t fix me the way it used to, the way you always dream it will.
8
Scenes for One Man and Two Women
Get in touch with your child, Rob says at the beginning of class.
After our warm-up this guy does a scene from Hamlet, where Hamlet’s trying to deal with the fact that his mother married this guy who killed his father. It sounds pretty good to me and the boy’s really rolling, really emotional, and he has this great English accent, but Rob starts shouting at him about halfway through. He shouts, breathe! breathe! Your voice is up in your throat. Breathe evenly.
Finally Rob stops the guy, his name is Jim, and Jim’s all sweaty and in tears and he starts wobbling around like he’s going to faint and Rob says, what’s with all the theatrics, all this huffing and puffing, squeaks and honks, it’s all camouflage for something, what are you trying to hide?
So Jim looks real pained, he’s trying to catch his breath and he says, I think I’m going to faint.
Rob says, you’re not going to faint, that’s more camouflage, stand up straight and breathe evenly. Okay, now, what’s really going on here?
Jim shakes his head and shrugs and Rob goes, defense mechanisms.
Finally Jim gasps, defense against what?
You tell me, Rob goes.
Jim keeps saying he doesn’t know and Rob keeps after him and finally he goes, this isn’t about Hamlet and his father, this is about you and your father. It’s all camouflage for feeling that your father wasn’t strong enough, isn’t it? Isn’t that what’s going on here?
Jim starts crying and finally he says maybe that has something to do with it. Rob thinks that the scenes we pick tell a lot about us. And I’m thinking maybe so, Jim seems to be really affected by this, or else maybe he’s just playing along because it’s a good scene, I don’t know.
Acting’s about honesty, Rob goes, after Jim has his cry. Don’t be afraid of your feelings, he says.
So this girl who’s new to the class raises her hand and she goes, I worry sometimes when I get into an emotion that I’ll get totally carried away and I won’t be able to stop.
Every natural emotion has a beginning and an end, Rob says. If we surrender to a predominant emotion in class it will run its course in a healthy way. Of course, he goes, if you’re deeply troubled then you may not be able to stop and that is a problem.
Maybe it’s my imagination, maybe I’m just paranoid, but it seems like he looks at me when he says this, I guess he’s thinking about my little freak-out a few weeks ago, when I made like a spastic and had to go see the nurse. So okay, I never said I was normal.
Let me give you an example, Rob says, sitting up on his desk and folding his legs underneath each other—he used to study yoga in India before he decided to be an actor. Example, he goes, I sometimes have a fantasy of mowing down people on the street with a machete. I do. That doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it. But it’s something I occasionally feel. Not that I’m ever going to do it. A healthy adult can tell the difference between fantasy and reality. As a normal human being you recognize that you don’t need to act on every impulse you feel. But as an actor you tap into the fantasy and use it. Of course, first you have to know the difference between fantasy and reality.
I raise my hand and I ask, how do you tell the difference?
He looks at me and says, Alison, have you ever considered therapy? I really think you should.
I’m serious, I go.
He goes, so am I.
So after this really wonderful day at acting class I get home to deal with the fact that my ex-boyfriend, the only love of my life, is arriving any minute to sleep with my roommate. This seems to me like a case where fantasy is leaking into reality in a serious way.
Jeannie comes home from work all flustered and excited and I find out she’s sent a car to meet Alex. I don’t believe it, I don’t mind her sleeping with my ex-boyfriend, really I don’t, but we’ve got this incredibly serious deficit in this house, we’re like Bangladesh or something, and she’s ordering limos. I was down to my last dime until I made a little withdrawal from Dean’s wallet. Foreign aid, right?
Jeannie spends
the next two hours working on her eyes. Don’t ask me why, but for some reason I think of this story I heard once about these two college roommates who hated each other—one of them was a friend of mine, actually—and one night she put some Nair hair remover in her roommate’s mascara tube, you can imagine what fun that was.
Anyway, Jeannie’s fixing her eyes, so I go down to the corner —my phone away from home. First I try Dean, no luck, then I try to track down my dad. I’ve got to get hold of some serious cash. I call his office in Washington and the secretary accepts the charges and tells me to try the farm in Virginia, he’s down taking care of some horse business. Can I give him a message if he calls? she says.
Yeah, I say, tell him to get in touch with his child.
I’m kind of amazed that Dad’s in Virginia because he hardly ever goes down there anymore, Mom lives there and they can hardly stand the sight of each other. You can’t blame them, really, either of them.
Dad moved us out to the farm from Long Island after they separated, I was ten then. Before that it was a tax writeoff. It’s complicated, they’re divorced and Mom still lives there but he owns part of it or something. It’s a big white house with pillars, on a rise, seven or eight barns and stables spread out behind. It was a good place to be kids, all the land and horses. School was fifteen miles away and we’d always miss the bus and Mom could never get it together to drive us in, she was asleep most of the morning, totally zonked in her big pink canopy bed. When we were little we’d climb in and pretend it was a ship sailing off to England, where Gran was from, the chintz curtains were our sails.
I call the main house collect and Cliff answers. I ask if Dad’s there and he says no. Cliff doesn’t know where he is or when he’ll be back. Mom and Carol are out shopping. I tell him to have my dad call me, then I hang up.
Cliff is probably my least favorite person in the whole world. He’s Dad’s right-hand man, he drives the car and beats people up or something. He tried to rape me when I was a kid. I was out in the stables and he cornered me, the only thing that saved me was I had the curry comb, I’d been brushing Eric the Red, and I finally whacked his face with it. I wish I’d hit him where it really hurt but I was so freaked out, his hands pinning me to the walls, and I ran like hell after I hit him. When I told Dad, he acted like he didn’t believe me. And finally he said Cliff didn’t mean any harm and told me to shut up about it. That’s when I realized Cliff had something on him, that Dad couldn’t afford to fire him. That’s also when I realized that my father was a complete asshole.