The makeover had begun. I’d spent several afternoons grilling Gloria’s son, who enlightened me about his well-lived amorous life, as well as giving me a clear sense of what his play was about.
“Samantha missed the point of the fabled characters,” he complained. “Fabien and Ipan represent the internal dialogue of the main protagonists.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that before,” I replied. I jotted wildly in my notepad. “The more background details I have, the better.”
“Are you worried about what Samantha will think about your version?”
I opened a bottle of merlot and poured two glasses.
“I’m sure she won’t get it, but what she thinks has nothing to do with why I’m doing it.” I lounged back in my armchair and tasted my wine. It was mellow with a slightly sharp aftertaste. “By the way, Guy and Janice want to be in my version.”
“Who else is in it?”
“Warwick, hopefully. Maudi, definitely. Oh, and she has a friend to play Ipan. His name is Frederick. Apparently, they’ve shared the stage together before. Now all I need is the love interest. Someone young enough to play him. Not someone who’s nowhere near the right age, like Pedro.”
Gloria’s son sniffed his wine and shrugged in a devil-may-care attitude. He took a huge mouthful.
“Nice wine, Allan.”
“Um, I said ‘someone young enough to play him.’” He stared at me like a post-lobotomy patient. “I was thinking that art should imitate life.” He grinned. “Would you like to play him?”
“I thought you’d never ask. How many performances are we doing?”
“Only one.”
“Just one?”
“I’m going to shoot it as a movie on my video camera. I’ve always wanted to make a film, and as I’ve got nothing better to do, why not? No time like the present.”
“That’s a terrific idea, Allan. I’ve never seen a film in the Afterlife, not even television.” He paused, took a sip, and then put his glass down. “Anyway, about your movie, I’m going to help as much as I can with sets and models and stuff. I want to see my play done right.”
“Which still gives me the problem of your name. I can’t put ‘Gloria’s son’ in the credits.”
“Use GS.”
“That sounds like a sports car. Come check out the new GS! Smooth, refined, and a pleasure to ride.”
“It’s the closest you’ll get to a name.”
I shook my head.
“Mr. GS, you still haven’t let me know if you’ll play the part.”
“Allan, you realize I’ll have to pine over Warwick, if he takes the part.”
I slumped.
“Oh yeah, you’re right.” I took a small sip and swirled the wine around my tongue. It gently warmed my throat with its rich flavor. Gloria’s son tilted his head, staring at me like a Mormon wife wanting to know if it was her turn in the master’s bedroom. “GS, I really would love it if you’d take the part.”
“Then I’ll take it.”
The main challenge was the portrayal of the fantasy elements. On stage, it was easy. The audience fills in the details of how and where Ipan and Fabien live. But through the lens, all had to be revealed.
At one stage, I had this odd idea about the magical folk appearing out of nowhere in the homes of our earthbound characters. Like ghosts in the background mingling where the action is. This would have saved us looking for extra locations to shoot in. Gloria’s son argued that this was too 1960s supernatural sitcom, and tackier than anything Samantha would have dreamt up. He was right.
So we decided to let them inhabit the sky. Gloria’s son knew a friend of a friend who had a warehouse. On inspection, it was evident we had a perfect rehearsal space, and somewhere to create a cosmic feel for Fabien and a new character he wanted to introduce named Farah, a love interest for the man in the moon. The young playwright hung fabric on a curved rail, on which we projected images of the night sky. Fabien and Farah would stand in front of this illusion, wearing vivid flowing gowns that would subtly waft for effect, thanks to small electric fans.
For Ipan’s establishing shots, we made a cobalt-blue papier-mâché moon, which could be lit to portray its different phases. Maudi let us use her apartment to represent his dwelling under the moon’s surface. We added a telescope so he could keep watch over our main protagonists and replaced that stupid moon suit with a dark red military coat. Frederick looked like the conductor of a brass band, eccentric but with an air of authority. I directed him to be a widower who still pined for his lost love. His sense of duty toward the couple took on a new meaning, as he both cared for them as a parent and saw himself as one of them. This led to some truly tender rehearsals with this veteran actor.
Gloria’s son also rewrote the dialogue to honestly reflect his true experiences. I began mining my laptop for suitable music. With everything coming together, I just had Warwick to convince. I took him aside before our performance one night and put on the hard sell.
“Do you think it’s fair not to ask Pedro?” he asked.
“Absolutely. He might say yes.” Warwick didn’t answer. “See, even you think it’s a bad idea for me to ask him.”
“You can read me like a book, Allan.”
“So will you do it?”
“I really want a break after this show. Get to know Pedro better, away from the spotlights.”
“But it’s a video shoot. We should wrap it up in two weeks. I’ve already started rehearsals.”
“That’s not what’s bothering me.”
“Ten-minute call,” yelled a stagehand from the wings.
While the others were putting on their final touches, I stood with Warwick on stage behind the rich red curtains. The audience chatted eagerly on the other side, fueling my fear of rolling down the aisle again.
“Warwick, what can I say to get you to do my film?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to do it. It’s just that I have a life with Pedro now, and doing your film will take me away from that.”
“But it’s only two weeks. Hasn’t he got another half-baked idea of a play to write?”
“He’s got a few ideas.”
“So give him some space while you act in my film.”
“Guys, you’ll need to go backstage soon.” The stagehand was laying out props for the first scene. “And Warwick, act in Allan’s film. It’s got to be a hundred times better than this circus.”
“See, even the stagehand agrees with me.” I gave him my best puppy-dog-eyed expression. “And you’ll get to play James as Gloria’s son wrote him, intelligent but questioning his manhood. Come on, pretty please.”
My friend looked earnest, like he had lost something valuable.
“Maybe, but I’ll have to think about it. I really would love a break…”
I kissed him on the cheek, being careful not to smear my white face paint on him, and waddled to the green room dragging him by the hand.
“Thanks, Warwick. You’ll be great in the role.”
We played out our purgatory on stage at night and kept rehearsing during the day. Maudi was our new sassy witch, Farah, while her friend, Frederick, portrayed Ipan with a kind heart and a wealth of stagecraft.
For Guy and Janice, it was troublesome not to bring the new direction into their nighttime performance. Little nuances spilled through, but Samantha didn’t seem to notice. We planned to start shooting several days after the final-night party.
Gloria’s son guided us during rehearsals, adding little touches of business for my earthbound characters from his own reminiscences. A small caress of a shoulder, the ease of holding hands in public without thinking about those who might gossip, or a playful slap on the bum all helped differentiate the real characters from the mythical.
We rehearsed all our scenes at the warehouse. There was makeshift furniture scattered around that we positioned as Ipan’s home, in line with how we would rearrange Maudi’s apartment when we were ready to shoot his scenes. In another area, we recreated my flat, as that would be the setting for James and Simone’s house. I’d often shoot the rehearsals for later study, but as I was still without someone to play James, I would sit in place with script in hand and direct from within the scene.
“You’re not in love with him, are you?” my character asked.
Janice as Simone dried the dishes.
“Oh, god no! I can’t do the younger man thing. At no stage have I thought of running off with him. In my mind, it’s always the three of us.”
“Why are you so keen, though? Has my husband developed a taste for bisexuality?”
“No, but somehow I don’t think of him as…” I looked at my fellow actor with uncertainty. “I just don’t understand why. It’s like our minds keep moralizing, yet our souls are telling us it’s natural.”
“This isn’t a new take on a midlife crisis, James?”
“Babe, like you, I can’t be the older married one, no matter what sex the bit of fluff is. I’m still passionate about you. Besides, I can’t see myself in a canary-yellow sports car just yet.” I held my pose. “Okay, well done, Janice.”
“Maybe you should play the part, Allan?”
“Then who’d shoot it?”
“We could all take turns.”
“Thanks, Janice, but no thanks. There’ll be too much variation in shooting styles.”
“Any word from Warwick?”
“Not yet, and I don’t hold much hope. It’s final night tonight, so I think our chances of convincing him are slipping away.”
* * *
“So how is your version going?” asked Samantha.
She clutched a glass of chilled pinot noir as if her life depended on it. I sipped my merlot and considered my answer carefully. Warwick stood with us, guzzling champagne like the rest of the cast and their friends at the final-night party.
I was ecstatic that I’d never wear that corny moon costume again. There was a residue of grease paint on my face, because as soon as Guy stuck the glass of wine in my palm, I stopped washing it off and symbolically left this horrific ordeal behind.
Frederick came to watch the final performance, but was warned not to take his characterization from what he witnessed on stage. He and Maudi, along with Janice, huddled around Gloria’s son, animated in conversation.
“I asked how your version of the play is going?” repeated Samantha.
“Brilliantly.” I didn’t mean to gloat, but it was hard to conceal my excitement. “We couldn’t have made it without members of the original cast, though. Your direction has helped them immensely.”
Warwick shot me a blank stare.
“You can have any of the costumes,” she suggested. “It will save you time.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. We’re reinventing the outfits.”
“Oh, you’re not keen to use my most inspired work?”
Warwick nudged me.
“Allan, the play wouldn’t be the same without your moon suit,” he said. Now I gave him the blank stare.
“I know, but it’s a stage versus screen type of thing. On stage, you need big costumes so the back row can appreciate them. On video, you need to be restrained as the camera magnifies everything, even performance.”
I gulped down my merlot and scanned the room for Guy. He was suitably sozzled, chatting up a friend of Gloria’s son’s. The love interest leaned against the stage, observing the other patrons.
“I thought the idea was to take the stage version to the screen,” said Samantha.
“Well, it’s Gloria’s son’s rendition of the play. He’s done some rewriting.” The blonde pursed her lips. “I was never out to make the same version. What would be the point of that?”
“I just thought that since the play was already directed.”
Warwick came to my rescue.
“Samantha, if Allan was going to shoot your version, he’d simply set up his camera on a tripod in the aisle. It’s his baby now. Let him nurture it his way.”
“Okay,” she vaguely replied. “Oh, there’s Pedro. I’ve got to go and tell him how pleased I was with his performance tonight.”
She abruptly left. Gloria’s son watched her leave and dashed over with a bottle of wine and a bottle of champagne.
“You didn’t need to pop over,” I said. “We could have come to you.”
“I was looking for a reason to leave that conversation,” he replied. “Too much negative critique.” He refilled our glasses. “You both looked bored talking to Samantha.”
“And your friend looks bored talking to Guy,” Warwick said. “He needs your company more than we need it. He’s either looking for a better option, or he needs his glass topped up.”
Guy’s left wing was around the man’s shoulder.
“My friend is just playing hard to get. It’s his style.”
“He’s in for a good time,” I said.
Warwick gave me a devilish grin. I returned the gesture.
“What’s that look all about?” I wiped the expression off my face. “Did you guys have a threesome?” We didn’t reply. “Come on, Allan. You’ve grilled me at length about my sex life, and you haven’t even told me that you guys did it with an angel.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“It’s what brought us together as a couple originally,” added Warwick.
I felt a wrenching in my guts. As brave faced as I acted in front of my friends, I couldn’t trick myself. A thief had stolen my lover’s heart and with it, some sense of closeness. I’d been lapping up my time with him at this party, short as it was, and praying that Pedro would fade into oblivion now that the run was over. But I was the fool, taking my camera in hand, filming my friends, and going down a different path without my mate.
“Are you okay, Allan?” asked Gloria’s son.
“I’m sorry,” said Warwick. “I should have thought before I opened my mouth.”
“It’s okay. I have no right to…” I looked toward Janice, Maudi, and Frederick. The older thespians were holding hands, listening to their costar in between sharing tender smiles with each other. “I’m happy for you, Warwick. Just like I’m happy for Maudi.”
She was sixteen again, wistful and prized. Her loving gentleman also had a youthful step. Janice seemed to know that she didn’t have their full attention, eventually trailing off midsentence and instead just gazing at the lovebirds. There could have been a major earthquake or a deadly fire around them, but they seemed untouchable. As if a romantic shield would protect them against the pain of daily life. I’d have given my right arm for a small slither of that magic shield.
“Maudi’s definitely smitten,” said Gloria’s son.
I took a breath to bring me back to the moment. “Yes. I’m looking forward to learning a lot from her friend,” I said. “His acting knowledge is well worth tapping into.”
“Yes, Frederick’s summary of the stage version was spot-on, ‘the theater of the bewildered, both cast and direction.’”
“That’s why I’ve decided to do your film,” announced Warwick. He winked at me before sipping his champagne. “Allan, why have you gone quiet?”
“You could have knocked me over with a feather. What changed your mind?”
“Pedro has some new play in mind, so he needs the space. Plus Samantha’s attitude just now convinced me to do it.”
“What do you mean?” asked our young playwright.
“She was giving Allan the third degree about his version of your play, as if it was a crime to change her direction.”
“True. I felt like I was in confession, and I’m not even Catholic.”
“What is she, twelve years old?” exclaimed Gloria’s son.
“It feels like it sometimes,” said Warwick. “I’ve hung around her too much lately. She fools herself into thinking she’s some great director, and she’s smart enough to be; she just doesn’t know anything about the craft.”
“Oh, come on now! She had Allan dressed like a beach ball. It’s a wonder there wasn’t a beach scene on stage. A giant sandcastle and bucket against a summer sky. And what she did with my words has made me turn in my grave, literally.”
“That’s part of the reason I want to do this,” Warwick added.
“What’s the other part?” I asked.
“I want to do this for you, Allan. I think it’s the least I can do, considering how I’ve treated you.”
I felt vulnerable. Part of me was screaming for joy at the chance to repair our long-lost connection. We’d team up and show the Limelight Quarter what acting was all about. Warwick and Allan together again! A force to be reckoned with.
But was history repeating? I’d share part of him, but when the game was over, I’d be left holding the last fragments of a friendship I deemed too special to end.
“You’ve gone quiet again,” said Gloria’s son.
“I’m just seeing Warwick in my mind, in the part of the husband.”