Sammy Ronstein is not more excited about Deja New than he’s been about a project in a long time. In fact, he has concerns about the play. Concerns wasn’t the word he used. “Considerations.” That was the word. I had told him I was in the city because my mother was in the hospital and he insisted we do lunch. Do lunch. What is that? When did lunch become something that got done rather than eaten? He said to meet at Orso at 12:30. I arrived at 12:25 and he was already there. I spotted him as soon as I walked in. Sammy has a large head, expressive features, and a compact body that is hardly worth mentioning because you can’t help but focus on his face.
He barely said hello. Jumped right in—with feverish enthusiasm. “Elise, Simple Syrup was gold. Pure gold! Joleen brought the disappearing middle-aged woman to the stage. No one sees her. And no matter how many mirrors and reflective glass windows catch her gaze, she can’t even see herself. You created a character who resonated.”
“Thank you, Sammy,” I smiled with my new Crest White-strips confidence. All teeth, no glee. I didn’t know where he was going, but I knew he was going somewhere I didn’t want to go.
Sammy Ronstein does that self-deprecating thing that people do when they want you to know how important they are, but they also want you to think they have too much humility to brag. “I admire playwrights like you, Elise. I could never write a play.” He leaned in across the table. I leaned in. We were forehead-to-forehead. He wanted to tell me something important. I was important. He used my name, sprinkled it into the conversation to make sure I was paying attention.
“Elise, I don’t have the discipline or the empathy or the gift with language, but I love the company of creatives. I get off on listening and I try to do my small part to support the playwrights whose work I care about. I want them to have a safe space for their work. Don’t think I don’t get a lot out of it. I have been honored to work with so many brilliant women in theater and I bow to them—Anna Deavere Smith, Eve Ensler, Sarah Ruhl, Annie Baker, Paula Vogel, Fiona Gunderson, Lynn Nottage, and dear Wendy, how we all miss Wendy. Such an unimaginable loss.”
He pulled back for dramatic effect. Now sitting upright in his chair, he smiled and shook his head. “I sound like I’m namedropping. I hate namedroppers. Don’t you? I don’t care what your name is, Elise.” He shook his head from side to side as he said those last words—I (head to the left) don’t (over to the right) care (back to the left then centered and looking directly at me) what your name is. Elise. Still making eye contact—“There are considerations. We have Nancilla Aronie ready to direct and I know you want her blown away by Deja New as a groundbreaking piece of social commentary about the failure of feminism and the modern American woman.”
Is that what my play is about? Why didn’t I know that? Is that what I’m supposed to be writing?
I’m going to try to get down what Sammy said, word for word to the best of my potholed memory:
“Elise, I want you to hear me out. I am only saying this for the strength of the play, so I don’t want you to overreact or to take what I say personally. My notes are just that, notes in the service of making great theater. I’ve been doing this for a hell of a long time, and I have some experience in what works and what doesn’t. I want you to recreate the magic you did with Simple Syrup. I know it’s in you. But from what you’ve sent me, I’m asking myself, is it too obvious? Too simplistic and reductive? And then I thought, what if you turn it on its head, shift the focus away from Laurie. Start the play as Granville’s story. Let Laurie’s character be revealed first through Granville, and then through her mother and her father. You can use those around her to shape and form her, as she feels they have.
I tried to moderate my voice, to keep it from cracking or upticking or doing any of those things that women’s voices get criticized for doing. “So you’re asking me to write a play about a woman from a man’s perspective? And then from her parents’ perspective?”
“I’m not asking you to do anything. I am exploring opportunities to make your play punch with the impact of a heavyweight fighter in a welterweight match. This is how the process works. You surely remember that, don’t you?”
“I understand where you’re coming from and I value your notes and your experience and will, of course, consider your ideas, but I don’t really think that’s how this story should be told. I feel that the other characters are there for Laurie to push against, not to be revealed by.” I kept my Whitestripped-smile on display as I responded to Sammy, so as not to appear confrontational, smiling, Julia-Roberts-toothy, through my fury.