Page 132 of Playworld
“Russell was a child actor. He was inGunsmoke,The Fugitive. You have the same eyes. The hair. You carry yourself with the same confidence. It’s winning.”
“It’s an act,” I said.
Hornbeam chuckled. “At least you can admit it. I’m going to send the script over to your agent. You read it, and we’ll talk next week. How does that sound?”
“When would we shoot?”
“Mid-November through early December. You’d be home in time for Hanukkah.”
Here was the moment of which my agent, Brent, had spoken—the moment of being made. It was no more complicated than that. The oddest part was this: I hadn’t gone looking for it.
“I’ll be in touch,” I said.
Later, as I was unlocking my bike, I looked up toward Hornbeam’s second-story window, at the room where we’d sat, and I paused. From this angle, I could spy only the chandelier. The space seemed to shine with a unique vividness, a deep focus, one I would recognize in later years as I walked through other luxurious neighborhoods in distant cities, knowing full well how remarkable they were inside.
I told Elliott about this meeting with Hornbeam in our session that Saturday. We were sitting at the diner’s counter. When he ordered coffee, I asked for the same.
“Well,” he said, after I laid it all out, “that’s something. What are you gonna do?”
When I turned to face him for a suggestion, he said, “Don’t look at me.”
“I’d like your advice,” I said.
Elliott smiled. “You can’t make the wrong decision. Not if you choose by your lights. It’s a cliché, but everything else is contingent. You know what that means?”
“Subject to chance.”
“Good man.I bring no news here, by the way. The old truths are still the goodies. But they bear repeating. You take the part, you go to Paris, you have experiences. Other opportunities present themselves, and then you make more decisions. It’s a very different sort of education than the one you’re currently set upon. It’s all very…professional.” He placed his cup in its saucer. “Do you know the etymology of the word ‘decision’? You learn that in Latin?”
“I didn’t learn anything in Latin,” I said.
“It comes fromdecidere. It means ‘to cut away from,’ like a boat from a mooring. A decision, then, is simply the beginning of a journey. If it seems fateful, it’s because it is. If fateful seems too heavy, subtract the weight from it by recognizing you will make countless such decisions in your lifetime.” He raised his hand toward the waiter for the check. He produced his billfold. “Want to know the hardest thing about making a decision? In my experience, of course.”
I did.
“You already know the answer. You’re just not quite ready to admit it. Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Do you know the answer?”
“Yes.”
“There you go.”
The waiter waved Elliott off, so he plucked a five-spot and slid the money toward him. “What else have you got for me?”
—
Amanda had called me the evening before and asked if I could meet her that Monday, while she was babysitting. I’d said yes, of course.
That Saturday night, though, after my session with Elliott, I joined Tanner at Dorrian’s Red Hand. It was an Upper East Side bar,nondescript apart from its red-and-white-checkered vinyl tablecloths and the fact that the place served next to anyone with a fake ID. It reminded me of my evening at the Quogue Field House, except for the fact that, apart from the bartenders and a waitress or two, there were no adults anywhere, just wall-to-wall kids—a speakeasy in Neverland. Tanner and I were on our second Long Island iced teas when his sister Gwyneth, back for the weekend from Princeton, walked in on the arm of Rob Dolinski.
“My little brother!” she shouted to Tanner when she spotted him. “And my adopted brother!” she said to me. She gave me a hug, then held me at arm’s length and squeezed my biceps. “Someone’s been doing push-ups.”
Rob upnodded at us then went to get drinks.
“I didn’t know you two were dating,” Tanner said.