Page 21 of Playworld

“What we’re telling you,” Dad said, “is that you’re going to be making a contribution. That part of the money you earn as an actor will go toward your tuition. Do you understand?”

It was difficult to tell if this was a request for my permission or an announcement.

“What if I don’t?” I asked.

“Understand?” Dad asked.

“Make a contribution.”

Dad looked at Mom, not without some alarm; Mom shrugged at this response, as if to say,I told you.Dad unclasped his hands andclapped them back together. When he made big gestures like these, he reminded me of William Shatner.Billions,I could imagine him saying,billions and billions of galaxies.“Then I guess we’ll have to find other means.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay what?”

“I’ll do it,” I said. Because in a way I didn’t understand, I felt like I’d gotten my answer.

—

Naomi’s car was dark now. To my right the West Side Highway winked and pulsed. With the windows up, its flashes were silent, like heat lightning. We’d finished talking some time ago. Naomi sat there, thinking. She had unbuttoned several buttons of my shirt and lightly dragged her fingernails over my chest. It made me so hard my penis was sore. I’d have enjoyed it more if I wasn’t so afraid she’d notice.

“Your little brother,” Naomi said. “How come he goes to a different school?”

Shame banished my boner. “He didn’t get in,” I said.

“Really? He seems so smart.”

“He is. But I’m not.”

“What kind of nonsense are you talking?”

My guilt surrounding this subject was as heavy as cement shoes. “I got bad grades in middle school. Mom said they thought Oren would perform just as poorly. So they didn’t admit him.”

“Why would she tell you something like that?”

I turned my chest from her and buttoned my shirt. “Mom never lies.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I said, “It’s notyourfault.”

“It’s not yours either.”

I watched out the window. The West Side Highway flashed its Morse code, and Naomi sighed.

“Do you like it?” she finally asked. When I looked at her questioningly, she said, “Acting.”

I had to think about this for a moment. “Sometimes,” I said.

“When?”

“When I know my lines. I’ll do things, in a scene, that are smart orfunny. It’s hard to explain. It’s like I know more than I do. Than when I’m me.”

“For example?”

“How I might act,” I said, “if a gun was pointed at me. Or if I could fly.”

“And that’s the fun part?”