Page 49 of Forget About Me

“He wants me to start going out for film. He thinks I’m ready.”

“Well, of course you’re ready, my sweet. You’re an amazing actor. In fact, I hope I can scoot back home for this show. I’m so proud of you for taking that risk.”

“He doesn’t give a shit about acting chops. Well, he does. But he means timing-wise. He thinks modeling has peaked for me, so making that leap needs to happen soon.”

She takes a sip of something. With her, it’s either a shot of vodka or an espresso. She’s intense about everything. “That makes sense. What’s the problem?”

I let out a frustrated breath and get up to pace, the telephone cord tethering me. “I just… I don’t know if I want to go back.”

“To…?” she prompts when I don’t continue.

“To Los Angeles. ToHollywood, to that whole… thing. I mean, yeah, some of it was fun. Plus, I worked hard to get where I am. It feels dumb to throw that all away.”

“For a tiny Shakespeare company in the provinces?”

“Well, yeah.”

Mira hums. She does that when she’s thinking. She’s likely on her feet too, flitting around her apartment or hotel room or wherever they’ve put her up. She has a suitcase she hauls along when she works out of town just for household stuff: colorful pillows and scarves and candles that she scatters around her new space, even her favorite spices and knives so she can cook. She brings home with her wherever she goes.

Something clunks down on a countertop on the other end of the line. “Right,” Mira says in her let’s-get-this-shit-figured-out voice. “What do you lose if you don’t go back?”

I look around my own little apartment. The photo of Lucy catches my eye, but I need to focus on the career question first. “Well, the seven years I spent building a career there. That’s wasted.”

“You’ve saved money, though, right?”

“Yeah, it’s not about that. I mean, that savings won’t last me forever, but I could figure some way to make money here.”

“So what is wasted?”

I stalk back and forth, swinging the cord behind me. “I have opportunities that most actors would kill for. Kirk, and my current window of fame, can get me into a lot of rooms right now.”

The sound of liquid sloshing into a cup comes over the line, and Mira swallows a few sips before continuing. “Alright. Those are reasonable arguments. What do you lose if you go back to LA? Working in front of a live audience that actually appreciates the classics? Or is it about Lucy?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I evenhaveLucy.” Puck paws at my leg. I point to the floor, and when he lies down, I toss him a treat. “She’s still angry at me on some level, though we’ve had a few moments where… The thing is, I still haven’t told her abouteverythingthat happened when her brother died.”

“Because?”

“Because I’m afraid of what she’ll think. That she’ll hate me. Duh.”

“No duh.” The old retort sounds ridiculous coming from her. “Ben. Not telling her is bad, and the longer you wait, the worse it will get. She’ll be hurt and angry that you didn’t trust her.”

“I guess, but?—?”

She overrides my objections before I can make them. “You need to get things straight with her on that front before you decide anything else. Meanwhile, stay in the moment withTwo Gentsand learn what you can from the show. Take each step as it comes. Don’t overthink it. Lots of actors are bicoastal, LA for pilot season and Boston for summer… Shakespeare and who knows what in between. There are dogs to be trained all over the world. Who wouldn’t want the wife of a famous actor to teach their dog to roll over and shake paws?”

I start to protest that it’s not that simple, but she cuts me off again.

“Damn, I have to go. I can’t quite seem to adjust to Central time. We’re up next week too, so I’ll be buried. Tech, dress rehearsal, opening night, tra-la-la! But I love you, darling. Be present for your life!”

And she’s gone.

I have to admit, I’d hoped Mira would have a simple solution for me. Though she’s given me marching orders, they aren’t exactly simple. Being present is fucking hard.

Puck whines. I get up to put the phone back in the cradle and sit down on the floor beside my little Zen master.

As I scratch the spot between his tufted eyebrows, Mira’s words echo in my head.Tech, dress rehearsal, opening night.Rehearsals always build toward an intense final week. In tech, you work out the set and lighting; in dress, you add the costumes and a few people to watch. On opening, the paying audience shows up.

Maybe that’s what I need to do with the story I need to tell Lucy. Rehearse what I’m going to say, then try it out with a few trusted people to work out the kinks, all in service of getting it ready to present to the only audience that truly matters.

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