Bruce Wagner - I’m Losing You

TRYSTS & CONFABULATIONS

Aubrey Anne Turtletaub

(310) 555-1722

Troy Capra

Troy worked feverishly on Skin Trade while keeping an eye toward potential venues, Equity-waivers where he might rehearse and film the performance. The idea of shooting on an “X” soundstage came to mind, but Troy dismissed it as too “on the nose.”

The plan was to film ninety minutes of written material honed at private showcases — technically, a no-brainer. The key, as always, was the writing. The autobiographical vignettes had to stand alone yet be of a piece: a child’s sudden recognition of the sacred, mystic ordinariness of a winter morning; a twelve-year-old boy, marooned in a body cast after being struck by a car, spins tales of chivalry; the sightless cello teacher who set Whitman to music; tender agonies of first love and the eeriness of first death — his bookish father’s, from lupus; mother-son healing on a magical trip to New York, the smell of subways and Broadway and Mother’s Arpège. Troy wanted to pierce the heart of things, to learn, if he could, how it was he found himself — three quarters of a life undone — onstage at this precarious benefit, this fund-raiser for his soul.

If he kept it honest, he couldn’t go wrong — that’s why he decided to begin with a skit of himself directing porn, in pantomime: stooping to invisible actors as he held camera on shoulder, zooming in, panning flesh, cajoling, extolling, a clockwork artist under the fiendish, ticking cock of a come-shot. A naked and bravura opening for the performance of his life.

He made Kiv call the actor a week after they’d met. A week felt about right — a week wasn’t pushy. Troy wanted to play out the connection, keep it alive until he could sit with the star and fill him in on Skin Trade .

When Richard asked if she and Troy were an item, Kiv said, “Off and on.” Very high school — very Beverly. That’s what Troy told her to say and they fought about it but Kiv finally agreed, in the name of Troy’s career. (She couldn’t resist adding, “Mostly on.”) They were supposed to get together for coffee, but Richard was going to England for a few weeks and wouldn’t be able to see her till he got back. She was somehow relieved. Before they hung up, the actor asked if she’d ever been to London. When Kiv said no, he said she should come along. She just laughed and so did Richard, in that famous way. She wondered if he was serious.

A few days before Richard was due home, Troy called the office. He was close enough to finishing Skin Trade to lay the groundwork for drinks. If they could just meet somewhere — Orso’s or the Grill or the Ivy — he’d bring the actor up to speed, dropping the completed script in his lap. He knew that without Kiv, there was little chance Richard would even return his call; maybe that wasn’t even the case. What was he expecting from the star, really? Financial backing? Hosannas and camaraderie? How could he benefit from pimping Kiv? By becoming Richard’s friend? (The pseudo-friendship of a dealer.) Maybe his needs were that simple. Where was the rule that said he couldn’t be Richard Dreyfuss’s friend?

“Hi, my name is Troy Capra. I met Richard at a play…”

“Troy?” asked the astonished voice on the phone. “It’s Betsey — Blankenberg!”

“Jesus! Betsey? How are you?”

“I’m great ! How are you ?”

“Fantastic!”

“This is so funny .”

“I didn’t know you — you work for Richard?”

“No, I’m stalking him. I break in every few weeks and answer the phones.”

“For how long?”

“Oh God. I’ve worked for Richard four years now.”

“It is such a small world.”

“He told me he ran into you — he said he saw someone from Beverly.”

“He couldn’t have remembered—”

“He barely remembered me and we went out together!”

“I didn’t know that! But how ? He was gone by the time we—”

“ Way after I graduated. Long, boring story.”

“So you just work for him now.”

“What can I say, I like the bastard.”

“Well, that’s fantastic. Are you married?”

“Divorced with children. You?”

“No way.”

“Tell me what you’ve been doing , Troy Donahue — with your life .”

“I’m still directing theater—”

“I knew that — I mean, you’ve been doing that for years . But I don’t see plays anymore, unless I’m in New York. Even then, I’m not really a big— I’m so ashamed! ”

“I do stuff all the time, you should really come.”

“I’d love to see you.”

“Tell me when. But the reason I was calling was…Richard and I met at this Ibsen play and we talked about getting together—”

“Let’s see…he was supposed to be back on Saturday but now he has to go to Dublin, for a wake if you can believe it. He should be home the fourteenth, but I know he’ll be crazed that first week.”

“Can we pencil something in for the twenty-first?”

“Uh huh. Will he know what this is about?”

“Uhm, yeah. When we talked, he asked—”

“That sounded horrible, didn’t it? What I meant was, if there’s an agenda, sometimes it’s good that I know so I can remind him — who knows what manner of jet-lag we’ll be dealing with.”

“ Adventures in the Skin Trade —the performance piece I’m working on.”

“ Great title .”

“I’m just about done and—”

“Super! You know, you guys should really do something together, Richard loves the theater. He’s doing Medea , in La Jolla—”

“He mentioned that.”

“With Des McAnuff. It’s going to be so wild — Medea meets Sunset Boulevard .”

“Set in Hollywood?”

“It’s called Medea Madness . Medea marries this great director. When his movie goes in the toilet, he leaves her for this Sherry Lansing — type — and you know what happens next !”

“Sounds intense.”

“Practically the whole second act is a murder trial — it’s, like, this great commentary .”

“Have they found someone for Medea?”

“That’s what’s so great: Des reversed all the roles. Richard is Medea!”

“You’re kidding.”

“Isn’t that fantastic?”

Bernie Ribkin

Sitting on the deck chair in his Polo shorts, mezuzah sweating in the snow of chest hairs like a tiny gold traffic light, the producer scanned the printout:

CAR HAS NO REVERSE GEARS. DIS ASSEMBLE SELECTOR SHAFT MECH FROM INSIDE CAR. INSPECT SHAFT AND FORKS OPERATION, R&R GEAR BOX TO REP REVERSE LEVER AND SLIPPER PAD, CH SHAFT POS & GEAR FOR DAMAGE AND OPERATION ADJ REVERSE PLUNGER — BLEED HYDRULICS.

REAR BRAKE LIGHT IS OUT. REPALCE R/STOP LIGHT BULB

WASHERS ARE NOT WORKING. PARTIALLY REMOVE WASHER RES TO CK FOR KINKED TUBE, CLEAR JETS AND ADJ SPRAY

He glanced from the mechanical litany to the ocean — a gorgeous day in the Colony. No one wrote about the fabled enclave anymore, at least not like they used to. The place really used to get the hype. To this sandy Eden, Oberon Mall had come home.

The beachhead was stormed: squadrons of physicians rallied by Rear Admiral Trott, round-the-clock nurses, major and minor domos, ensigns and assholes, commodores, captains and petty officers first class; guerrillas and partisans; shock troops, domestic and culinary; nutrition and therapy corps; cadres physical, emotional and respiratory; voice coaches and snipers, channelers and chanters, WACS and wackos, dune-crawlers, bush-fighters, gossip-mongers and mercenaries; engineers of kitchen, pets, pool and bath; astrologists and masseurs, mediators and meditators and just plain groupies; paraplegic cheerleaders (a sexy stuntgirl among them) and sundry tear-streaked Big Star pre-approved dropovers. Visiting Oberon Mall had become anecdotally correct.