"Oh, that's what I say, huh?"
"Well… I'd like you to." He leaned toward her and grinned. "And shall I tell you why?"
"Why?”
"Because I've been wanting to get a chance to meet you, and I can't do that if all we're saying is 'Would you like more coffee,' and 'Miss, may I have the check now.' In fact, I have a confession to make."
"What?"
"I put that butter on the floor on purpose so you'd slip and spill something on me.”
“You didn't!"
"No, I didn't. But I would have if I'd thought of it." Ann laughed again, but there was no embarrassment in it this time.
That evening over stuffed flounder at the Kirkland Inn, the young man, whose name, Ann learned, was Dennis Hamilton, told her that he was enjoying the meal more than any other he had had since rehearsals began. "And you know why? I didn't think so, so I'll tell you. It's because you're the first normal person I've met since this whole thing started."
"What do you mean, normal? Dull?"
"No, no, not at all. I mean beautifully, charmingly normal. Have you ever been involved with theatre? Professionally?"
"No."
"Me neither. Not until this show, anyway. Oh, I did a lot of stuff in high school, and I busted my hump working in a summer theatre to get my Equity card, but all did on the stage was serve a drink in Act Two and say, 'Would you care for another, sir?' But anyway, everybody in this business is slightly crazy."
"Present company excluded?" she asked.
"Of course. All the women are so self-centered you can hardly talk to them -that is, if there was anything besides performing that they could talk about – and the men are all gay. Well, most of them anyway. Couple of guys – Sid and Harry – they're straight."
"Gay? You mean homosexual?" Ann was shocked, but hoped she didn't look it. She hoped in vain.
"That surprise you? It did me. Hey, you'd be surprised how many guys in theatre and movies are. I mean, the stories I've heard, some of the names, the guys who are famous for being such big…” He searched for a word. "… studs, pardon my French, well, they're absolute flaming faggots when nobody's looking."
"God, that's amazing. Like who?"
"Aw, I don't want to say, I mean, some of it might be just talk. But whether they're straight or gay, the guys are just as into themselves as the girls are.”
“So what's this show all about?" Ann asked.
"It's a musical about this young emperor who falls in love with this girl who isn't a princess or anything, and he wants to marry her, but his nobles don't want him to, so they have her killed."
"Ooo. That's a little extreme, isn't it?"
"Well, it's all done behind his back, but he finds out about it, and there's a big duel at the end with this imposter the nobles have tried to put in his place, and it turns out that the emperor decides never to get married and let his line die out. See, that's the revenge on the people who wouldn't let him marry the girl he loved."
"Oh, that's kind of a different ending. How did you get in it?"
"There was an open audition, so I took my brand new Equity card and went and sang a song. Then they had me come back to read and sing for Ensley and Davis. You know who they are?"
"Sure." Ann's parents had taken her to New York to see All For the Best when she was in ninth grade, and she had seen the film versions of Wandering Wind and Calahan's Folly and owned both soundtrack albums. "So you really sang for them?"
Dennis nodded. "Danced too, though they didn't think much of my dancing."
"But you got the part."
"Mmm-hmm."
There was a pause while the waiter removed the soiled dishes. Then Ann asked, "So what do you do? Serve drinks again?"
He gave a short, uneasy laugh, and for a moment she was afraid that he had no lines at all, but was just a singer in the chorus. "No, no drinks. I get to do a little more this time."
"Oh, well, that's good. Who do you play?"
"The Emperor."
It took a few seconds for her to realize that he was being serious. "You have the lead?" He looked down and nodded. "My God, that must be… exciting.”
“Try scary."
“Why?”
"Because the people who aren't counting on me to sell their million dollar show are hoping that I'll screw up." He shook his head in frustration. "It usually takes years to get somewhere in this business, and that's what I expected to happen too. I thought my voice would get me through a few years of chorus jobs while I took enough dance so that I didn't stumble around on stage too much, then a few speaking roles, maybe the hero's comic relief friend, and then, if the gods smiled, actual leads by the time I was in my thirties or forties."
Ann was beginning to see. "But it happened a lot faster."
"Did it ever. This is a part every young performer in New York wanted, and I -literally – just stepped right into it." He sighed. "As a result, an awful lot of people don't like me very much."
He sat there quietly for a long time until the waiter brought them coffee and asked if they wanted dessert. They didn't, and the waiter left. "It's a drag," he said finally. "I don't feel as though I'm really into the part. I mean I read fine during the auditions, and I was okay during the first week in New York. But everyone got so… bitchy. They treat me like this incredibly lucky jerk. Hell, I don't feel like an emperor at all."
Ann thought for a bit, took a sip of coffee, then spoke. "Maybe you shouldn't try and feel like the emperor. Maybe… maybe you should just be the emperor."
(At a window high up in the building, THE EMPEROR stands, looking out onto the parking lot from which Ann Deems is driving away.)
THE EMPEROR
I want her. And I will have her. I'll have her crying, screaming, kneeling to me. Kneeling to her emperor. I'll have her bleeding.
Scene 7
"Looking back," said Dennis Hamilton to Ann Deems as they sat at the same table as they had on their first date, "I think I owe it all to you."
"Owe what?" she asked. She was wearing a teal sweater dress with a long, rust-colored wool challis scarf. The diamond studs in her ears sparkled in the candlelight. Her face, Dennis thought, looked untouched by the years, as smooth as a child's in the gentle, golden glow.
"I owe you my career," he answered, smiling at her quizzical look. "Don't you remember the first time we ate here? I was bitching about how I didn't get any respect, how everyone was hoping to see me wind up flat on my face, and you told me not to try and feel like the Emperor, but to be the Emperor. And after I dropped you off I went back to my room and I thought damn it, she's right. I didn't have to feel like royalty as long as I could act like it. And I knew I could do that, and from that day on, at the rehearsals, I did."
Now Ann was smiling too. "I do remember."
Dennis looked down into his wine glass. "God, I was scared, though. But I figured I had nothing to lose."
"And that was when you told the stage manager to get you coffee."
A look of astonishment came over his face. "I told you about Pritchard?"
"You told me everything then. And I remember I was so proud of you. It's silly now, but it was a turning point for you in that show."
Dennis shook his head, remembering how Caton Tully, the director, expected Ralph Pritchard to get coffee from the machine in the lobby for him and several of the more highly paid actors at every break. Dennis had not been among the select few. The morning of the day after he and Ann had their first dinner together, Dennis had made his move.
~* ~
When Pritchard started back to the lobby to get Tully's coffee, Dennis called after him, "I'll have some too, Ralph. Black," and turned away before Pritchard could respond. When Pritchard returned, he handed the cardboard cups around, then finally gave the last one to Dennis. Dennis opened it and saw the light brown of a double cream. Although he didn't taste it, he felt certain that Pritchard had dumped a double sugar into it as well.