Attack of the Theater People (27 page)

Thirty-eight

I pace around
the Lincoln Center fountain as if it were a clock, the Met at twelve, Alice Tully Hall at three, the State Theater at nine. Beyond the plaza stands Juilliard at two, Fordham at ten, and, just past six, Little Liberty, the replica of the Statue of Liberty that rises improbably above the rooftops, which is appropriate because I’m tired, poor, and yearning to breathe free.

It’s been a long month.

I fingered Chad, who fingered Rich Whiteman, who, in turn, went on
The 700 Club
to say he was a victim of a militant homosexual conspiracy. (“Oh, goody,” Hung said. “I’ll get started on the uniform.”) The
New York Times
revealed that Chad was actually a community college dropout from Scranton, Pennsylvania, while the
New York Post
called me “the Juilliard Jackal.” As a result, Sandra has started getting requests for me at parties again, which I gladly accept, particularly since she fired Dagmar for hitting on too many customers. She even apologized for calling me a con man in the paper and gave me a raise.

But the sweetest victory of all was one little line in the
Wall Street Journal
:

Edward Zanni, a Juilliard drama student on a leave of absence, provided a great service to the business community when he used his acting skills to expose a nest of vipers.

My father read that.

I look at the Mickey Mouse watch I bought myself at FAO Schwarz—2:53 Edward Standard Time—which means it’s 2:53. Enough already with trying to fool myself. It never worked, anyway. I make a silent prayer to Saint Jude, take one last gulp of spring air, and shamble around the corner with the slow, heavy tread of an astronaut landing on the moon.

As I pass through the glass doors leading into the finest drama school in the country, I watch a passel of enthusiastic students laughing, talking, talking, laughing. I feel older and tougher by comparison. Surely none of them has a probation officer.

Even the building feels weird to me, so familiar and so foreign at the same time, as if I were a ghost, and I’m glad I chose to wear what I did. I debated whether my Swousers and an ACT UP T-shirt were too distracting for an audition, but I like how they make me feel: these pants are the most comfortable I’ve ever owned, and the shirt makes me feel strong, reminding me that I want to act up as well as act.

Life is too short not to act up.

I go into the rehearsal studio where Marian Seldes and the faculty are waiting.

“My little bird,” she says, pointing like God creating Adam. “Welcome back.”

“Hi,” I say, giving a little wave.

She steadies her eagle eyes on me. “I see from the papers you took my advice. Though I must say this wasn’t the kind of adventure I had in mind.”

“Me neither.”

She clasps her hands together as if in prayer. “So, what do you have prepared for us today?”

I’ve prepared Ronnie’s monologue from
The House of Blue Leaves
, all about how he’s going to prove to everybody he’s not a loser by blowing up the pope. It’s funny and angry and weird, and I think I do it much better than Ben Stiller. But, as I open my mouth to announce it, the words get caught in my throat. Over the last year I’ve played Eddie Sanders, Eddie Zander, Etienne Zazou, a bicycle messenger, a pizza delivery guy, a rabbi, and a crazy man with a colander on his head. That’s eight roles, nine if you include faking a brain tumor. I just want to be Edward Zanni.

It’s the role I was born to play.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “At this point I don’t think I can say anyone else’s words but my own.”

Marian Seldes murmurs something to the rest of the faculty, who murmur back in their murmury way. “Go ahead, then,” she says.

I don’t mean to, but I tell them everything—about Almost Bruce and the Almost Shah. About being the Life of the Party and the Party Monster. About Eddie Sanders and Eddie Zander.

Most important, I tell them about the Attack of the Theater People. If this were a play instead of a monologue I’d give them each a curtain call:

Natie—who managed to look as innocent as Paula and got off scot-free, although he did get thrown out of the funeral of a retired insurance salesman named Wilbur Branch.

Willow—who is…well, still Willow. And dating Natie.

Paula—who, by all accounts, did an amazing job at the agent presentations. And got no offers.

Marcus—who will star in the Coup d’État’s production of
Macbeth
. Directed by Paula.

Ziba—who has gone from partying with Persians to planning Persian parties. And working as Sandra’s much-needed assistant.

Kelly—who, because of me, got fired from
Starlight Express
. But is already down to the final callback for a role on
As the World Turns
.

Doug—who called me to complain he’s being stalked by two junior high girls. I told him that’s the price of fame.

Hung—who went off to Akron for the summer, leaving me with a sweet (and completely legal) sublet. With a massage table.

Everyone should have at least eight friends. One for each day of the week, and a spare in case someone gets sick.

Finally I say, “I haven’t seen much of the world yet, but, in a way, it’s come to me. I mean, if the Cossacks hadn’t held pogroms across Russia, which sent millions of Jews to New York City, which can now sustain a bash mitzvah industry, I wouldn’t have brought down the biggest supporter of the Moral Majority. And if Lyndon Johnson hadn’t lied about an attack on U.S. ships in the Gulf of Tonkin, propelling the U.S. into a war we couldn’t win in Vietnam, I wouldn’t have had anal sex for the first time—using a condom, of course, because some unknown person in Africa probably got bitten by a chimp and caught a fatal virus. And if Oliver North hadn’t sold weapons to Iran to fund the contras, forcing Nicaraguans to flee to Miami, where a vacationing Fran Nudelman poached the chambermaid from the Sheraton because she was impressed with the way she scrubbed a tub, I wouldn’t have a baby brother and sister.” (Named Al Junior and Alana, by the way. Don’t get me started on the names.)

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that if all the world’s a stage, I want to play my part, even if it’s in a shiny shirt and tight pants. Years from now, when someone says to me, ‘What did you do in the fight against AIDS?’ I don’t want to answer, ‘I got a cheap apartment.’”

I look at Marian Seldes. “So I’d like to say thanks. If I hadn’t gotten kicked out of here, none of this would have happened. And I’m glad it did.”

Edward.

I pick up my messenger bag and head for the door, when I hear Marian Seldes say, “Will you wait a moment, please?”

I turn and see the faculty murmuring among themselves. Finally Marian Seldes rises. “My little bird,” she says, “this rarely happens, but we’d like to invite you to return to Juilliard.”

Time stands still. In that moment I sense everything—the hum of fluorescent lighting, the scuff marks on the floor, the smell of an airless room, the dryness in my mouth. “Really?”

She beams. “What you did just now is exactly what we’ve been looking for from you. For once, Edward, you gave us truth instead of a
performance
.” She splays her quill-like fingers in a Fosse-esque manner, but the effect’s all wrong.

Medea! The Musical.

And that’s when I realize it. I don’t
want
to pretend the audience isn’t there. I want to invite them in, connect with them. I want to hear them laughing, feel them listening, move them.

“Thanks,” I say. “But Juilliard isn’t ‘jazz hands’ enough for me.”

It’s an exit line, and I’m the one who exits.

Cast of Characters

Being a writer
ain’t as lonely as it sounds. I get so much support from my old friends, as well as all those new ones from around the world who write me via
MarcAcito.com
, My Space, or Facebook. I’m also grateful to my real parents: artist Megan Garcia and entertainer Chase Acito, for inspiring me to make dreams a reality; and my literary parents: agent Edward Hibbert, for being a Jewish mother when he is neither, and editor Gerry Howard, for providing the kind of strict fathering that won’t let me verb a noun.

Thanks so much to all the people I bugged for research: BoBo Wilson, Mikey Long, Greg Dalvito, and James Kern for answering my stupid financial questions; Officer Jason Walters and Officer Vincent Glenn for being my go-to guys for police procedures; David Stone, Susan Sampliner, and Tony Galde for allowing me to tour the Gershwin Theater; Jason Headley, Karl Rohde, and Rob Peacock for trying to explain football to me; and Scott Waldman of the Waldorf=Astoria, whom I lied to when I said I was throwing a party for two hundred. Other important details came from Willard Crosby, Margot Hartley, Courtenay Hameister, James Rae, Peter Carlin, Deb Sheldon, James Lowther, Steve Walters, Susan Branch, Dennis Hensley, and the guy from the SEC who asked me not to use his name.

My everlasting gratitude goes to the Early Intervention Editing Team of playwright Cynthia Whitcomb and novelist Eve Yohalem, who read and reread, counseled, and cajoled over marathon meals and phone calls, as well as one perilous mule ride up a mountain. They make my writing better, and my job a joy.

Finally, add together everything I’ve said above, take out the mule, and you can begin to understand the contribution Floyd Sklaver has made to my life. In a world of detours and stop signs, Mr. Absolutely is a succession of green lights.

Also by Marc Acito

How I Paid for College

PUBLISHED BY BROADWAY BOOKS

Copyright © 2008 by Marc Acito

All Rights Reserved

Published in the United States by Broadway Books, an imprint of The Doubleday Broadway Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.broadwaybooks.com
BROADWAY BOOKS
and its logo, a letter B bisected on the diagonal, are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental, with the exception of Marian Seldes, whose lifelong dedication to the craft of acting defines the term
theater person
.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Acito, Marc
Attack of the theater people : a novel / by Marc Acito.—1st ed.
p. cm.
1. Actors—Fiction. 2. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction, I. Title.

PS3601.C53A88 2008
813'.6—dc22
2007041077

eISBN: 978-0-7679-3018-5

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