The audience for Tom and Gerry was in a peculiar mood that evening. They were too responsive. They laughed at everything. Henry enjoyed it at first, but it became confusing, annoying, like making love to someone who was ticklish.
“You’re sure full of beans tonight,” the Princess told him in the wings while they waited for the curtain call.
“Am I?” But then he remembered that he had cause to be full of something. Nobody knew his good news, of course, but he was reluctant to tell it, for fear that he would gloat.
They took their bows and quickly dispersed backstage. Henry opened his dressing room door and found Jessie sitting there, talking on her cell phone. She signaled hello at him with her index finger.
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. At what time? Fine.”
He squeezed past her and sat at his dressing table. He was not entirely sure that he wanted Jessie here. He’d like to be alone—for a few minutes anyway. He covered his face with cool, smelly cold cream and watched the highly competent woman in his mirror. She looked so tickled, as if she were laughing at him or herself or the world, he couldn’t tell.
She finished and snapped her phone shut. “So how did it go? You must’ve felt distracted by your big news.”
“I forgot. Believe it or not. But I always forget everything except the show.” He wiped his mouth so he could speak without tasting cold cream. “You didn’t have to come get me. You put in a full day today. I’d think you’d like some time to yourself.”
“Not me. And it hasn’t stopped. Not even while you were onstage. I got a big surprise for tomorrow. Do you know who Rosie O’Donnell is?”
He thought he’d heard the name.
“She wants you on her show tomorrow morning.”
“I thought I was doing that ET thing.”
“Entertainment Tonight is at eight. Rosie tapes at ten. Somebody canceled. She jumped at the chance to get you. And we can fit her in. Oh I went ahead and hired a car and driver for tonight and tomorrow. And one last thing. Can you wait until you get home to take a shower? They’re waiting outside.”
“Who?”
“You’ll see. Here. I brought you your tweed coat. It’s nattier than your ratty old denim.”
She went out into the hall while he changed his clothes. Henry wondered what was up but was too fried to think clearly about anything. He rejoined her and they started down the stairs. There was a curious brightness below, as if a car were parked outside with its headlights aimed at the door. They stepped into the glare.
Two white lights mounted on tripods steamed in the aerosol drizzle. Below were a handful of video cameras, a few journalists, and forty or fifty fans. “Oh fuck,” said Henry.
“There’s the car,” said Jessie. “Parked by the curb. The driver’s name is Sasha. I’ll wait for you there.” And she hurried off, abandoning him to the jackals.
“What’s this?” cried Henry in mock surprise. “My autograph? If you insist.” He scribbled his name on one program, then another and another. These weren’t anachronistic autograph hounds but “normal” people, regular theatergoers. He hadn’t seen so many since the first week after they opened.
“Mr. Lewse?” a male reporter called out. “Is it true you’ve been cast as the lead in the movie of Greville?”
“I don’t know if I’m supposed to say anything. But I’ve been approached.” He continued to sign his name, pretending not to notice the cameras, feigning indifference to the large woolly object thrust in his face like an angora phallus.
“Are you giving up theater for the movies, Mr. Lewse?”
“Do I have to choose? I’d like to have it all. Wouldn’t you?” He was pleased by how smooth he sounded, neither flippant nor earnest.
“How do you feel playing one of the most hated villains in popular fiction?”
“Dee-lighted.”
And he was delighted. He was giddy, he was high. Everyone was smiling at him. Three million dollars was nothing compared to this public adulation. The money wasn’t quite real. This wasn’t real either, but it was more familiar, immediate, and fun.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” he called out as he backed toward the car. It wasn’t a gaudy stretch limo, but large, tasteful, and black. He jumped inside and gave one last wave to the crowd as the car pulled off. He found himself happily breathless, like a younger man who’d just had a very nice quickie.
“How strange,” he claimed. “But I didn’t do too badly, did I?”
“Not at all,” said Jessie with a laugh. “You take to this like a duck to water.”