When Diamond Dawg Came to Call

 

Editor's note: I'm not really certain why I like this story. It's certainly too long and has not been everyone's cup of tea. In fact, it's caused more than one fight in its time (Not with Josie--she always understood that old Dawg...) But I think that's there's something--an inner truthfulness, I suppose--that touches me when I think about old Diamond Dawg, and the thoughts and feelings I was trying to get across by telling his...our...story.

Man, I'll never forget the time old Diamond Dawg came to live for a spell with us.  Neither would you, if this six foot four beanpole from Tulsa, Oklahoma with a mouth as wide as his frame arrived to park his carcass in your own apartment for six weeks.

 

He arrived in town like a cloud burst.  In fact, I do recall it was a rainy evening towards the end of February not fit for man or beast. We had been expecting him earlier in the day, in fact, my wife...Well, to be honest, she wasn't exactly my wife back then.  She was my one and only main squeeze, though. In fact, I could turn around in bed at night and squeeze her all I wanted, since she and her daughter were living with me at the time.  Still are, actually, only now it's what I would guess some would call legitimized.

 

But anyway.  As I was saying, my at that time illegitimate main squeeze had driven down earlier that day to the bus station to pick old Diamond Dawg up.  His bus had been scheduled to arrive at two in the afternoon.  So I was looking after the kid and she was doing the picking up, and low and behold at one thirty five--just five minutes after she had left to drive into Providence, mind you--I get this call from Diamond himself. 

 

"Hello, Matt!" he called out, upbeat as always.

 

"Hello, Diamond," I repeated, although my stanza was decidedly more subdued. This couldn't mean anything good.

 

And then he went into saying how he was terribly sorry--oh, did I mention that he always the word "terribly" before the word "sorry"? It was as if one justified the other...anyway, he said that he was terribly sorry, but his sister had forced him to have one final goodbye luncheon with her (a last supper, so to speak, ha ha) and he had arranged to take a later trip and he'd be arriving at six o'clock, not two, well, you know how things go. 

 

Now, I know what you're all thinking! Those of you who know full well that I live in North Eldredge, MA, just five minutes away from the good state of Rhode Island! I know you're all thinking, "Well, how in the name of God's Green Earth was good old cocknbull Diamond supposed to get all the way from Tulsa to Massachusetts in four hours and change?

 

You know what? It's better off not to ask him.  God knows I never did.  The answer would involve more spoke and mirrors than a political convention and probably bend the laws of physics and the space-time continuum as well.

 

"But don't worry!" Or so he said. He went on something like this: "I don't want to be more of a bother to you than I already have been.  Don't worry about picking me up at six at the bus station.  It'' probably be feeding time for you and the missus and the young one, anyways.  No, I've got a ride and that ride'll be dropping me off at six thirty sharp and not one minute later, so you make sure you've got your talking cap on tonight because the three of us got a lot of have catching up to do, oh yes indeed we do!"

 

 

   I just said to him, "Okay, Diamond, we'll see you then," and didn't have the poor taste to mention the fact that the Missus had already tooled up the Mustang and was looking to round him up at the station. Because, I was, well, you know...chicken shit.

 

Anyway, came TEN o'clock, when the little one had long been put to bed, and me and the missus were cuddling by the cathode-induced glow of the television, when who should come a-knockin' but old Diamond himself, half toasted to the gills...Ah, hell, I admit it, he was COMPLETELY toasted. I'm sure I can speak on his behalf.  He crashed up to our third floor apartment with his luggage and an old friend in tow, laughing up a storm about some lame-ass production of Medea one of them had seen.

 

Like I said, it was a rainy night, with thunderboomers ripping through the air at regular intervals every five minutes, like cannons on the stern...or is it aft? Ahh... Whatever the term, believe you me, those thunderboomers paled in comparison to the black cloud that hung over my lady Josie's head when she heard Diamond making enough of a ruckus to wake all the neighbors up that night, even those that had passed on.  Now, mind you, I personally don't find ten o'clock to be terribly late, but we had an older couple living on the second floor.  Very nice couple.  The wife baked fresh bread for us every month or so.  I'm positive that my missus was just concerned about being cut off from the dough.

 

(NOTE HERE: "Thought--Embellish? Exaggerate?)

 

His friend was not exactly a friend of mine, although I will admit if backed into a corner that we were certainly more than acquaintances. Kendra Killington was a rail-thin starving actress with wild red hair that more often resembled Bozo than Bette Midler, although I strongly suspect she was setting her sights on the latter. We had both attended the same college, during the same year as a matter of fact, and had both existed on the fringes of the theater world there, a fact that I am certain Kendra would deny to her dying breath. But nevertheless. There it is.  Kendra spoke in a stream-of-consciousness style that poured out faster than a freight train on speed. She was also wildly overdramatic.  It was no wonder that she and Diamond Dawg were practically twins separated at birth.

 

"Mattie!" Diamond called out, spotting me at the top of the circular stairs even before he turned the corner.

 

"Hi, Diamond." I nodded feebly in Kendra's direction, smiling and closing my eyes to avoid eye contact. I'm not really good at initiating greetings. I'm much better at responding to them, particularly when the situation involves people I'm not entirely comfortable with. And with Kendra, there was some discomfort involved. I always feel as if she goes over everything I say with a fine tooth comb, then reports her unflattering findings back to her compatriots once I've left the room. 

 

Diamond Dawg brushed past me, hitting my side with his suitcase. "Josie, how the HELL are you??" he practically screamed. Josie? Oh! I hadn't even realized at that point that she was dressed and had exited our bedroom.

 

Kendra made it up to the top of the stairs and planted a big wet kiss on me. I noticed that she was wearing a goldfish broach.  Kendra was just crazy about goldfishies.  She always wore something that sported one, as a matter of fact.  She would remark when pressed that she thought we lived in a "goldfish" world, which, I'll be honest, is wading wade too deep into the pool for me. I'm not even convinced that she knows what she's talking about.

 

Anyway, once they were safely ensconced in our cell, I shut the old front door softly, in order to give the Bakers a break. What's that? Oh, I didn't tell you that the bread-makers on the second floor were named the Bakers? See, you learn something new on every page. So there we were, standing in our cozy little kitchen, staring each other down, my wife and I in our sweatpants and robes, Kendra with her goldfishies, and finally Diamond, towering over us, his arms filled with suitcases, one in each hand, with a carry-all thrown over his left shoulder. He also had more in her car, although Kendra had only consented to bringing  up one small bag herself.

 

Oh. Perhaps it would be a good idea at this juncture to describe Diamond Dawg in more detail, just so you get a better idea as to exactly what he looks like. I'd personally prefer to take out a wallet-size photo and pass it around to y'all, but seeing as that's not physically possible and B.), I don't have one to pass around even if I could, I'll just have to describe him as best I can with these crude, stumbling devices I call words.

 

(NOTE: Pass out photos from shows?)

 

Like I've said five thousand times already, Diamond Dawg was tall, so I won't belabor that point any more than I already have.  He had bright blue eyes, probably his best feature, and a wide smile, which, in conjunction with dem dere eyes, really sucked you into his web.  It was a one-two punch, especially when you sprinkled on top his way with words, his ability to tell you a story for nigh going on half an hour and still leave you begging for more. Of course, ninety percent of what fell out of that mouth was sheer blarney.  But the packaging surrounding that bullshit!

 

What was left of his thinning hair was originally reddish brown in color, although from time to time Diamond would surreptitiously try to lighten it up and pass it off as God's own.  He was vainer than a preening cat, the unholy spawn of Tammy Faye Baker and Narcissus.  Especially about his hair, and although I wasn't around at the time, I'm certain he suffered quite a bit when it first started falling out. To compensate, he would try any number of teasing techniques, expanding gels ((check with Lisa)), mousse, Rogaine...he once told me in private (for I too am in the process of losing the leaves atop my pate) to use an eyebrow pencil to fill in the spaces while I'm on stage, for it cuts down on the glare and hides some of the loss. I've tried it, it works!

 

He sported a Mephistophelean beard, which extended just underneath his prominent, red cheeks.  And he covered his almost too thin frame in wildly decorative clothes. I once attended a costuming workshop he was holding, and besides going on about Coco Chanel and the like, he also remarked that one should put about as much effort into choosing one's wardrobe as one does taking care of one's body, because both are equally as important, and the former can actually compensate for the latter.  With this in mind, it's surprising he brought as few suitcases as he did. I suspect he has one of those carpetbags Mary Poppins used to carry. Also, he was quite partial to scarves.

 

Got the picture? Good, there'll be a quiz later.

 

So as I was saying, we all stood around the kitchen, staring each other down.

 

"Kendra, it's been so long, how is that darling niece of yours?"  Josie asked sweetly.  Even miffed, my girl knows her manners.  I just wished she rub off on me more.

 

"Oh, she's just doing great, thanks for asking," replied Kendra.  For the record: we have never met Kendra's niece.  But a few years back, when the niece was first born, one of the nurses tried to steal her from the Neo-Natal unit. It had caused quite a stir in the local papers. And it provided us with something safe to talk about with Kendra.

 

"And HOW is that darling precious sweet little angel of OURS?" Diamond asked, almost as if he were trying to trump Josie's superlatives. He was standing right beside me.  I could smell the liquor on his breath, it was almost forceful enough to get me drunk just from the inhaling. He turned to Kendra and nudged her with his elbow, framing a dramatic aside.  "You know, their little girl Miss Anna is just so sweet, she always reminds me of little Cindy Lou Who.  You know? From the Grinch Who Stole Christmas? You know who I'm talking about, girl?"

 

Kendra pursed her lips and nodded.

 

"She's just dying to see you," said Josie, lying outrageously.  We had brought up the subject a few times to Anna.  Anna thought that it was weird that we were going to have someone living with us for so long.  She was probably right.

 

"And I am just dying to see her," replied Diamond.  "But--oh!" He yawned and stretched out his arms, touching the ceiling.  "I am a dawg gone tired.  Would you mind if Kendra and I relocated into the living room for a bit? We have some business related to the play I wished to go over and I'd like to do it before these tired old eyes start to sag."

 

"Oh, no," I said, although I was more than a little disappointed.

 

"Not at all," said Josie.  She was probably relieved.

 

"I hope you don't feel I'm being rude," continued Diamond.  "I know that we all have a lot of catching up to do.  And I want to hear every single little last detail, I surely do.  But manana, babies, manana!  We must get to work!" And with that, and a wave of his hand, he swept Kendra into the other room.

 

I do feel obliged to mention that I suspect they spent the rest of the evening watching television. MTV, for those who are interested.  At one point Diamond remarked that he didn't like Madonna's hair.

 

###

 

(NOTE: At this point insert section regarding Auditions, if you want.)

 

###

 

I'm not exactly certain what I was expecting life to be like when Diamond moved in.  Being such an animated person, with such a gift of gab, I think I had some notion that the air would be filled with conversation twenty-four hours a day, with new and unique personages filing in to pay their respects to Diamond.  The conversations would snap with cultural and informative passages regarding the state of the world, with dozen of bon mots being juggled around our dinky little kitchen, which would be transformed as a result of this wit and wisdom into a Parisian salon. Naturally, I fancied that although these lively guests would come to visit Diamond, they would stay to talk to me.

 

In reality, save for that first evening's visit by Kendra, Diamond had relatively few visitors over to our salon.  One or two very nicely dressed women once came by to pick Diamond up to attend his acting classes in Providence.  Their names escape me now, but I recall they possessed high cheekbones that appeared freshly scrubbed and pink and reserved smiles that instantly rendered any desire I had for dialogue strictly verboten.

 

But there were other things that I probably should have more logically expected, but failed to foresee, things that were an extension of the animation that I had previously alluded to.  Things that, to be blunt, drove that sweet missus of mine apeshit.

 

As evidence, my friends, I present to you the example of the Ceramic Turtle Cookie Jar, or, as Josie and Anna called him, Turtle, for short.  Now, Turtle was a little item that Josie had brought with her from her mother's abode, at the time that the two of us decided to cohabitate, He certainly was a happy little turtle, with bright little button-hole eyes and a jolly face, and a pointed cap atop his head which you could lift up and remove in the event that you wished to retrieve something from inside his corpulent belly, say, an Oreo, or Lorna Doone, or Hush Puppy.  He was also, I will be the first to admit, painted a ghastly shade of green, a cross between a grisly serving of pea soup and an overripe cucumber.

 

Perhaps it was the fact that Turtle was one of the first things that would catch your eye as you walked into the Apartment.  You couldn't help but you look around and see little Turtle smiling up at you.  Or perhaps it was the fact that Diamond Dawg was an accomplished artist and designer in his own right, and the sight of this repugnantly hued reptile offended his artistic sensibilities, I don't know.  What I do know is that it didn't take him until our first breakfast together for him to start setting his sights on poor Turtle.

 

"What is that thing?" he said, setting down his tea and pointing a long bony finger in Turtle's direction.

 

"What thing?" asked Josie, busy buttering toast at the counter.

 

"That--"  He extended his finger further and shuddered.

 

"Oh, you don't like Turtle?"

 

He closed his eyes and grimaced.  "He frightens me." 

 

"How could a happy little ceramic turtle frighten you?"  Josie asked sweetly, keeping her tone light.  But you could tell she was starting to get offended.  At least I could.

 

"I like Turtle," Anna said.  She was sitting at the table, shuffling a piece of French Toast with her fingers around her plate, using her thick pool of maple syrup as a launching pad.  "Turtle's nice."

 

"Well, he scares Uncle Diamond, sweetie," explained Diamond patiently.  "Does he glow in the dark, Josie?"

 

"Uncle Diamond scares Turtle," Josie explained to Anna, mimicking Diamond's tone. 

 

"Is he radioactive, Josie?" Diamond continued, on a roll. I just sat there in my pajamas and laughed.

 

"Yes," replied Josie, starting to get sulky.  "Why don't you put your hand in the jar? Help yourself to a nice bar of uranium."

 

"I'd be afraid to put my hand in that bar," countered Diamond." Afraid that he might bite me. Ugh!" Diamond playfully reached over and pushed Turtle back a bit.  "How about if you let me buy you a nice new cookie jar? I know the cutest little shop on the East Side--"

 

" I like Turtle," Josie cut him off.  "I don't want another jar."

 

"I like Turtle, too," agreed Anna.

 

"Do you like Turtle, Matt?" Diamond asked, turning on me.  Who, me? No, he wasn't talking to me, I'm sure.  I stopped sniggering and focused on my peanut butter toast.  "Do you, Matt?" he repeated.

 

Gulp.  I noticed that everyone was looking at me.  Josie stood by the stove, within dangerously close proximity to a hot frying pan.  "Well, uh, he's never been my favorite cookie jar, uh, Diamond.  But I don't exactly stay up nights with the blanket over my head worrying about Turtle, either."

 

Josie shot me a look that would have killed.  Diamond appeared contented.  I knew for sure I had given the wrong answer.  Also that I wouldn't be getting any for a while.  "He scares me," Diamond repeated happily.  "Can I have some more of that fine French Toast, please?"

 

From that point on, a small war erupted over poor Turtle.  I would come home from work to find him transferred into one of our kitchen cabinets.  Diamond would be humming in the living room to whatever tune was on MTV, or smoking out on the little balcony outside our apartment, seemingly unaware that Turtle had been banished from the shelf.  Then, Josie would come home, after picking Anna up from day care, and within five minutes, after changing out of her work clothes and dumping her briefcase into our bedroom, the hunt for Turtle would begin.  Coincidentally, Diamond always managed to wander in as Josie started her search, as if he were eager, almost feverishly anticipating, the upcoming search, like a parent proudly observing their offspring at an Easter Egg hunt. His presence didn't deter Josie one bit. The two of them would carry on a conversation as pleasantly as can be, each refusing to acknowledge to the other that this test of wills was taking place.  Inevitably, she would find Turtle, then casually place him back into his position of honor.

 

Anne he'd usually say, "You're not really going to put that back out, are you?"  As if it had been her idea to retire Turtle in the first place.  And she'd usually reply, "I like Turtle."  Or words to that effect. 

 

Had this been the only battle that occurred within the household, it probably would have been an amusing little sideline.  Something we could have joked about in the years to come over cucumber sandwiches and watermelon wine coolers. Unfortunately, Turtle was only a small skirmish in the day-to-day battle that was waged during the four weeks during which Diamond Dawg came to call.

 

Of greater concern was Diamond's desire to re-arrange our lives, starting with the interior of our apartment.  I guess he possessed some strange notion that since he was in town to direct a production for us, what the hell, he might as well expand his scope to include our personal lives as well.  All the world's a stage, after all.

 

I honestly didn't mind him re-arranging my bedroom.  Oh, I know what you're asking yourself, now! If he's squeezing his missus at night, why in the world would have a need for a separate bedroom, as well?  I know you'll find it odd, but I had insisted on my own room when we first moved in together.  A place to call my own, so to speak.  I can count the number of times I slept in that bedroom on one hand.  Usually those evenings were after fierce fights with Josie, and the were cold, lonely affairs, as I stewed in the juices of my anger and prayed fervently that the morning would come so that I start afresh and get out of the doghouse.  I was always too proud to make up in the same evening.  Luckily, our fights were few and far between.  Still are, actually.  The serious ones, that is.

 

I must admit, though, that bedroom did come in handy with Diamond around.  Of course, by the time that he left, I didn't recognize the landscape.  It was as if someone had lifted up a pile of jacks from the ground, then threw them up and let them land in completely new directions.  But like I said, I didn't particularly care whether he painted the walls pink and nailed a dead rat to the foot of my bed. So long as it kept him content and peace was maintained.

 

Unfortunately, Diamond didn't remain satisfied for long with just one dinky little room.  He was, after all, an expansive artist, one who delights in the big picture.  And it was when he started to expand that old field of vision that my woman started to have a hissy. 

 

He started with the living room.

 

One night she came home and took a look in there, after locating Turtle in the baking area of the stove.  Diamond was sitting on the sofa--he didn't go in to observe her search, I guess because he was disappointed with his choice of hiding place that evening. He was, as I recall, munching on some pretzels.  I myself was busily reading a comic book in the other room.

 

It took her a second to spot the change. For me it would have been like finding Where's Waldo if he had been shrunk to the size of a needle and thrown into the Caspian Sea.

 

"You moved the glass table top," she said.

 

It had previously rested in front of the couch.  Most normal coffee tables usually do.  He had transplanted it in front of one of the picture windows and stuck a sickly Christmas cactus on top of it.

 

"I think it looks happier where it is," he said expansively.

 

She thought about that for a moment.

 

"I'm going to make it sad again," she replied.

 

And so they went.  As with Turtle, only on a grander scale.  Diamond would move the coffee table by the picture window.  Josie would diligently move it back. Then it would end up back by the "happy" window again.  Then back to the couch.  I swear, that poor coffee table must have moved more times that month than the last roll of toilet paper in a three bathroom house.

 

  At first, I didn't pay any mind to what was going on.  In fact, at first, I thought it was funny, a little game that Diamond and Josie were engaging in. A designer sparring match, in short.

 

 After a few days, however, it started to dawn on me that everyone didn’t share my amusement.  And I started thinking that maybe I should say something, but I wasn't certain exactly how to go about doing so.  One thing for sure, though, as I saw the face of my missus grow grimmer and grimmer with each passing day.  I came to the conclusion that old Diamond had better watch it, or he'd find old Turtle moved out of the kitchen and square into his rectum if he didn't cut it and soon.

 

Then, one day, at work, I received a call, about one in the afternoon. 

 

"Matt Edwards," I said, trying to sound as if I knew what I was doing.  I never identified the name of my company in those days.  I figured they knew whom they were calling.

 

"Matt."  It was Josie on the phone.  She sounded--no, I could tell it for sure, she was--crying.

 

"Josie, are you okay?"  My thoughts immediately turned to Anna.  Please God, let everything be all right.  "What's wrong?"

 

She stifled a sob.  "It's nothing major."  Nothing MAJOR??

 

"Where are you?"

 

"At work."

 

"Is Anna okay?"

 

"She's fine.  Like I said, it's no big deal, it's just--"  She started to choke up again.  "I just can't stand that bastard any longer..."

 

"That--"  Who?

 

"I can't stand him," she continued.  "Do you know what he did today?  I went to the store at lunch time to buy groceries, because he eats like a pig, too, and we didn't have nothing in the refrigerator this morning."

 

"Oh, you mean Diamond--"

 

"So I go on my lunch hour and then go home to put everything away--"

 

"--Dawg."  Shut up and let her speak, boy.

 

"And I thought I had left the hamburger out by mistake--you know, like that time a few months ago that we had to throw out a whole bag because I left them in the hall overnight?  Well, I didn't want to throw out anything else, so about an hour later I called home to see if Diamond was there yet.  He was.  Now I wish he hadn't been.  I wish that the hamburger just sat there and turned green and then I could have cooked him up a little meat pie, just to show him how much I really cared..."

 

"Josie, Josie," I said, at least a couple of times until I got through.  "You're babbling."

 

She sighed.  "You're right.  I am.  He does that to me."

 

"So you call him up and he says--"

 

"No, I  said, 'Diamond, I went food shopping this afternoon,' and before I could say another word, he cut me off."

 

"He cut you--"

 

"He cut me off!  He said, 'I know,'" She started to mimic him, with his over enunciated ("Sink your teeth into every word and attack em," he'd say at rehearsals), slightly effete, definitely overdramatic lilt. "He said it in that tone he gets sometimes, as if I had purchased toxic waste or something.  Right away I forgot all bout the hamburg! And I asked, 'Diamond, is there a problem with what I purchased?"

 

"And was there?"

 

"Was there? What did I buy that was any good!  I'm surprised you and Anna aren't hooked up to life support in the hospital, to hear him go on!  I don't know how he did it!  I mean, I put all the groceries away before I left the house! Somehow he must have memorized every can, every bottle, every head of lettuce we had in the kitchen! Because he went over every single item I bought and went on about why they were so bad, and why didn't I buy this, and didn't I know how expensive this thing was--"

 

"Oh, he couldn't have mentioned every--"

 

"Oh, yes he did! Every! Single! Thing!"

 

"Now, Josie, really, I mean--"

 

"Waxed beans!"  I swear, she sounded almost crazed on the other end of the line.  "Do you know how long that man went on about waxed beans? All I had was a simple little craving! Is that a sin? To hear him talk, they should be up there with DDT! 'Are you aware how much sodium there is in one can?' NO! I had no goddamn idea! Pass me the salt! I'll add some more!"

 

I sighed and slumped over in my spacious cubicle.

 

"Matthew, we have got to have a talk with that man."

 

I just knew she was going to say that.

 

"If it were just the food, I could cope.  But it's the cookie jar, and that damn coffee table, and the dental floss thing--"

 

I blinked.  Had I missed something?  "The what--?"

 

"Oh, I didn't tell you about that one? When Diamond flosses his teeth, he throws the dental floss in the toilet and flushes it.  Is that safe to do?"

 

"Gee, I really hadn't given it much thought..."

 

"But do you know how I know? Because he never shuts the goddamn bathroom door, that's how!  Nope, he just carries on his conversation and goes on about his business.  How many times has he taken a pee with the door open? The other day Anna almost walked in and received an anatomy lesson a few years earlier than I wanted!"

 

"Okay, Josie, we'll talk to him--"

 

"I mean, something's got to give!"       

 

"Okay, Josie, we'll--"

 

"I can't like this, Matt!"

 

"--Talk to him--"

 

"And I shouldn't have to in my own--"

 

"Tonight."

 

"--House."  My missus paused.  I think my words finally caught up with hers, like two bumper boats that go bump in the night.  "Tonight?"

 

"Yes. After rehearsal.  We'll sit him down at the kitchen table and work things out."

 

Josie's voice grew firm again, to show, undoubtedly, the conviction she had in her First Amendment right to purchase waxed beans any old time she pleased.  "We'd better!" she

declared, as if I were looking to weasel out of the bargain.

 

"We will," I promised.

 

###

 

"Allright, everyone all set now? And a one two three, move!"

 

"Join us, leave your--"

 

"No, no, no!"

 

Diamond turned off the tape recorder in irritation and glared balefully at the motley crew of thirty or so thespians that stood on the stage of the Jeffrey A. Edwards Middle School.  He whipped out a bright green scarf from the rear of his orange unitard and dabbed at his sweat-drenched brow.

 

And laughed. "You guys are really going to make me work, aren't you?" I gazed around the room.  No one was looking at him.  They all had their eyes on their socks, or out into the auditorium.  Capris Handy (who played Berthe) was staring at Jack St. Divine (who played my father) as if she had just swallowed a goldfish. 

 

Diamond was oblivious. He moved away from the tape recorder and stormed towards center stage.  "But I don't mind!  I don't mind one bit running to the tape recorder five hundred times if it'll get us past the first verse right! Now, look you guys!  This is a Bob Fosse number we're dealing with here!  Everything has to be precise! Pre-ci-sion! That's the name of the game!"  Sometimes I felt as if Diamond were Patton and he imagined us his faithful soldiers.  I half expected him to whip a general's hat out of his unitard any minute now. "I mean, maybe you can SCREW around with other choreographs, your Agnes DeMille, your Jerome Robbins..."  Diamond paused, thinking about what he just said.  "Well, maybe you can't screw around with Jerome Robbins either, but you DEFINITELY can't do it with Fosse, not here, baby, uh uh! Everything has to have a purpose! So when you extend your arm on 'Join Us...'" 

 

He sang out the section. He never did have the greatest voice.  Always had trouble on the high notes. I always attributed it to too much smoking. 

 

"...Make sure your arm is extended right on the 'Join.'  'Join.'?" Snap! Out his long, thin arm went. "And not on the 'us.'  Otherwise it looks sloppy.  And that's the last thing we want to look.  Isn't it?" 

 

He looked around the room.  I nodded my head, trying so hard to learn from him, to secure one iota of what he had learned on Broadway.  Or maybe it was off-Broadway. Diamond never was exactly detailed about his work experience.  "Okay, let's do the first verse again and then we can take five minutes."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, wait.  I need to back up a little bit. I believe I described the scene as containing thirty or so thespians gathered around Diamond.  I'm afraid I was being a bit excessive.  Actually, on that particular day we were down to twenty-nine, to be precise.  One of our chorus girls had just called in about a half hour before rehearsal to announce she was quitting.

 

Diamond, of course was unfazed.  In fact, he kind of laughed when he got off and told me that he was still planning to use the by-line "over thirty local performers on stage!" in the newspaper ads. "You think anyone is going to bother to count once they get there?"          

he had asked.  Daringly.

 

Anyways.  Diamond placed his hands on his waist and stared balefully out at the cast.  "Are you guys ready for this?" A few people, myself included, nodded their heads in agreement.  The remainder of the group filled the air with a sullen silence. Somehow this seemed to satisfy Diamond.  "Okay, hold on just a second.  Let me restart the tape recorder..." He sighed dramatically.  "Once again. Remember, think precision!  Pop out that 'Join' for me, okay? Just like popcorn, right? Hah!" He scurried over to the tape recorder.  "Okay.  A one two three and--"

 

"Join us--"

 

He snapped off the tape recorder about as quickly as it had been snapped on.  "No, no, no!" he scolded.  I shuddered. I swear to god, I had popped with all my might!  I was beginning to feel like an abused animal.

 

He started in to a new soliloquy. "Didn't anywhere hear a word of what I was just saying? Lewis!" He pointed to Leo Minor, who played my brother in the show.  The role called for a strong and muscular man, a real insensitive lout, the anti-Pippin, to be precise. We had been forced to settle for fat and dumpy.  Diamond had mentioned something at the time of casting about finding the dichotomy amusing, but I knew even then that he had been grasping at straws.  I believe that Diamond resented being forced to make the decision, because he always seemed to treat Leo with particular disdain, from the first rehearsal singling him out whenever he made a mistake.  "Lewis, you popped on 'us.' You were a beat off--"

 

Jack St. Devine slapped Leo on the back.  "Are you beating off again, Leo?"  Leo made a face and covered his privates, curtsying like a ballerina. And everyone laughed.

 

Everyone that is, except Diamond. "The pop is on 'Join!'" he cried out, cutting through the jeers by snapping out his arm, like a razor through butter. "'JOIN us!' Get it, Lewis? JOIN--US!!'" Diamond bent and flexed a few more times for good measure, then shook his head. "Okay, everyone, ten minutes!" He clapped his hands together, then grabbed his purple gym bag by the tape recorder and headed off the stage without saying a word to anyone, or even looking in our direction.

 

I watched him leave, concerned.  He looked as if the rehearsal were really bothering him. I guess I could understand why.  After all, we had been rehearsing for two weeks and had yet to master the opening number.  I debated hunting him down to talk to him.

 

"Matt!" Well, maybe some other time.

 

I turned around to see who was calling me.  It was Capris.  She had her arm around Jack St. Devine, but he moved to join Leo in the music room when I moved in her direction.

 

"What's going on?" I had known Capris for years, so many that we could almost be considered friends.  Personally, I had always considered her something of an elitist.  But she had always been the best of friends with Diamond.  That is, until recently.  For some reason, I had observed a chill in the air between the two at rehearsals.  Maybe it was because Diamond was directing this time around.  They usually had a lot of fun picking apart the directors for other shows we had done.

 

"I need to have a word with you," she said.

 

"You got it."

 

Capris touched my shoulder with her hand, her long, lacquered fingernails pinching in to my shoulders slightly.  She deftly proceeded to maneuver me off of the stage and into the hallway.  Oh.  It was going to be one of those talks.

 

"Matt, I just wanted to tell you what a WONderful job you're doing in the show.  I mean, everybody says so.  I mean, I really didn't expect that you'd be cast as the lead, you being so busy as President and all.  BUT it's so WONderful to see you throwing yourself into the role.  What an effort!"  I just loved to watch Capris' face during one of these talks. It was always so impassioned.  It was almost as if she really cared!

 

"I'm having trouble with my dance steps," I complained.

 

"Well, who isn't?" she laughed, rolling her blue eyes.  She had, I must add, successfully maneuvered me out of the theater, a pesky fly caught right in her web.  "Actually, that was what I was hoping to talk to you about."

 

"Why? Do you want help with your dance steps?"

 

"No!" Capris laughed, as if the very idea were absurd.  "Wait'll you see the dance we have planned for 'Just No Time At All.' It'll knock you off your ass!  No, thanks for asking! But I was concerned about the other members of the cast.  Don't you think that Diamond's being just a bit demanding?"

 

"Demanding?" I stared at her as blankly as a tabla rosa.  Diamond, demanding?

 

"All this hand extension." She flicked her fingers out into the air and shook her head.  :Over and over again.  I mean, isn't it a bit too much?"

 

"Well, it is an, uh, Bob Fosse number, like he said--"

 

"--And if we had Broadway dancers, that'd be fine! If we had a cast full of twenty year olds and twenty weeks to rehearse that'd be fine, too.  But honestly, Matt!  Look at what we're dealing with here..."

 

I shot a glance into the theater, just to refresh my memory.  Okay, there was Lady Sheba and Bill Willington, our two best dancers.  Both were over forty but still had the legs.  Oh, except that Bill had developed a painful rash on his back, and had requested he be placed in a reduced role this time around.  Okay...I glanced around again. Ehhh...

 

After that the mountain descended sharply.  Felix Zgniski, approaching his seventies, with heart problems.  Brenda Love, topping the scales at 250, recently diagnosed with a disc problem.  Tiny little Emily Plante, a doll like figure standing four foot seven, possessed of the rhythm of a string puppet lacking a puppeteer.  Andrew Carney, a towering hulk of a man, with a dislike for bathing and a tendency to sing and dance as he spoke" in monosyllables. 

 

Capris gave them a dismissive wave.  "You and I are the best dancers in the whole group."  It was a lie.  She knew it and I knew it.  But it sounded good making her point.  "Don't you think Diamond Dawg might just be barking up the wrong tree?"

 

"So what do you want me to do?" I demanded.  A bit crossly, I admit.  I'm a little slow sometimes, but I can spot a tractor-trailer going down the road from a hundred feet away.

 

Sure enough, Capris flew in for the kill, although still skillfully attempting to stroke my ego and accomplish her mission at the same time.  "Honey, you are President of this theater group--"

 

"And I thought we had an agreement while we're doing this play that I wouldn't have to worry about Presidential things!" I cut her off.  I frankly didn't have the time to play along or the inclination.

 

"Well, sweetie, somebody's got to do the Presidential things."  She looked at me, tossing her died blond hair back, batting her long eyelashes with faux innocence.  "Do you want me to bring it up as an order of business at the next board meeting?"

 

"No!" I sighed and moved away from her.  I felt like the dancers during Diamond's harangue.  "I'll talk to him."  I thought about the promise I had made earlier that day to talk with Diamond about the home problems.  Gee, old Diamond and I would be having quite a conversation tonight.

 

Speaking of which, at this point I observed him heading our way.  He was busily zipping up his purple gym bag.  He had just exited the Boy's bathroom.

 

He smiled at us encouragingly as he passed by.  "Going great," he said, courageously.  I caught a whiff of something as he passed.

 

Capris waited until he left and then whispered to me conspiratorially.  "He just went to have a drink, you know."

 

I was busy thinking about my impending long talk and really wasn't paying much attention to her words.

 

"He's probably hot," I replied.  "He's been working hard."

 

Capris frowned and walked away.

 

###

 

Ah yes, I recall exactly how the idea for the group to produce Pippin had been born.  It was during a not-so-casual conversation between Diamond and me, one day when I was sitting at his then-kitchen table in Cranston, Rhode Island. He had inhabited a dumpy apartment in a three-story tenement that he had attempted to brighten up with a gallon of paint here and there, some minor carpenter work and lots of theater props.  In fact, I recall I was sitting in a wicker chair that stood directly underneath the head of a papier-mâché rhinoceros, a beautiful rendering that Diamond boasted cost him all of five dollars, when the subject first came up.  That rhinoceros hovered over me, threatening to reach down and devour me.

 

It was a beautiful summer day, and my infatuation with Theater Arts Administration was in full bloom.  I had yet to take over the theater group at the time.  I had yet to make a single Executive decision.  But I was busy spending my time meeting secretly with various players who I wished to put on my Board.  And Diamond headed the top of my list, and was terribly eager to serve, and was as full of answers and ideas as I was with questions.

 

He had been living with a man named Domino at the time.  Domino was everything that Diamond wasn't.  Dark, understated, somewhat on the pudgy side.  Now, I must tell you, Diamond never once in all the time I knew him referred to Domino as his boyfriend.  They were always known as roommates.  But everyone knew the real story.  And if they didn't, the professionally shot wall size photograph of the two of them sitting back to back, gazing out at the camera, that greeted one upon entering the apartment gave one some small inkling as to the nature of their partnership.

 

   I remember, Diamond was going on and on that day about developing...what was it? Oh yes, I do recall now, a "wish list."

 

"You know what I mean," he had said, although I do assure you, I understood perfectly well what a "wish list" was without the additional exposition.  "All those plays you've always wanted to do, wanted to look into, wanted to read, but never had the time to research! That has to be one of your main responsibilities, Matt--Research!  If you won't do it, somebody else will, and then it's not yours, is it?  And if it's not yours, then another person has the knowledge, and if that's the case, what use is it for you to be President? Because you're not the one with the power, my friend, if that's the case.  And that's what this is all about.  P-O-W-E-R."

 

"A wish list," I babbled happily, enjoying my jasmine tea.

 

"Yes!"  He exclaimed, like King Arthur before Newt.  "What is it you'd like to produce? Then do it!  Like I produced Company.  Everyone said that it couldn't be done, it wasn't a popular show, there were too many characters, the songs were too difficult, but I did it!  It took nine months and I had to change the cast around twenty times, but it got done, by God!  And it was sold out for four weeks and we had a member from the State House of Representatives there, opening night!"  Diamond's eyes lit up.  I half expected him to point to me and intone excitedly, "And this can happen to--YOU!"

 

"I've always wanted to put on Pippin," I said.

 

"The you shall!"  he cried out.  He started to pace, as if he was unable to contain the excitement of the concept.  "Great show! Wonderful songs!"

 

"Yes, I like 'Extraordinary,'" I contributed.

 

"And it is!  It's an Extraordinary show!"  I had meant the song, but I didn't have the heart to stop him on a roll.  "Only--"  He grabbed my arm, as if seized by a sudden thought.  "We can't do it in the first year.  Too many people.  Too much music and dancing.  Too expensive.  No, we need to pick shows that are smaller scale.  But name shows.  We must have names!  We must draw people back into our theater!"

 

"Okay, no problem," I cooed.  "How about--"

 

"But we will do Pippin," he said imperiously. "And I'll do you one better--I'll direct it for you."

 

Well, of course, I was grateful beyond words.  Even if the promise was for some time at least a year away.  "Gee, thanks!"  I probably said. Or, "Gee Wilikers."  I don't know.  Probably something quite naive.

 

"And you shall play Pippin," he pronounced.

 

"Oh, gee, I don't know."  I tried to appear reluctant.  Of course, I was flattered.  "Do you think I can do it?  I mean, I've always wanted to, but--"

 

"Of course you can!  Believe me, my boy, I've molded rougher material than you!  You've got all the qualities for the part.  A nice voice, acting ability.  You see, Pippin should be the innocent, the boy next door that you'd love to do the nasty thing with."  He reached his hand atop my head, rifling through my dark, thinning hair. 

 

"Yeah, I know, don't even say a word," I said, glumly.

 

"Look, you've got more than me, right?" he laughed.  And I did, too.  Of course, he was a bit older than I was.

 

"Don't worry about that.  I'll take care of your hair.  I'll make you look like you have a mane!  Now..."  He stepped back a few steps, looking me over.  I was starting to feel a little comfortable.  "Can you do me a favor and lift up your shirt?"

 

I frowned, surprised by the question.  "Why?"

 

"Just take off your shirt, please!"  Diamond Dawg barked out.

 

Obediently, I lifted up my shirt, exposing my chest and belly.  My body was pale, I recall--the summer had just started and I had yet to go to the beach, and my body revealed the telltale puffiness of an exercise regime that had ended about a year prior.  Diamond looked me up and down, a doctor examining his patient.  I felt nervous, fearing rejection, I suppose.

 

He took too long to decide.  I felt ridiculous, standing there with my T-shirt clinging to the back of my neck, my hair in disarray from the lifting and stretching.  I wished he would get this over with.  And yes, I was wondering if he had other motives for asking me to disrobe.  I thought, what if he makes a pass at me?  The thought made me fairly queasy.  Would I be able to escape in time?  If he did and I rejected him, would he refuse to direct the play for me?  Would he direct it and then reject me as the lead?

 

Embarrassed, I said, "I know I don't have the body of a Greek god."

 

"It's nothing a few push ups every day wouldn't solve," he replied clinically.  "You can pull your shirt down now."

 

###

 

So it seemed I had a lot of things to talk about with Diamond.  Why was it, then, that I found myself saying so little of substance on the car ride home that night from rehearsal?

 

It was an extremely rainy evening.  My car felt as if it were under siege amidst the pounding racket attacking it en toto.  A cold rain, too, unseasonably cold for the month of April.  Diamond sat fidgeting in the passenger seat, fiddling nervously with the radio dial.  I couldn't tell if the rehearsal had wound him up or if my silence made him nervous.

 

"Can't find a goddamn thing on this radio of yours," he complained.

 

"Heh," I said.

 

"What a foul, foul evening this be," he intoned, dropping his hand from the radio and snatching a glance outside.  The pounding on the car seemed to grow harder.  I gazed out the windshield.  Hail.  "Ah!" He landed on a jazz station.  John Coltraine.  My Favorite Things.  His ears perked up, like a terrier catching the sounds of the next-door boxer.  "Hey.  Not bad."

 

"No," I agreed.

 

"Well, my boy, we've got a lot of work ahead of us, but I think we're going to do it!" Diamond enthused. "I must say, I can't tell you how worried I've been, what with the talent pool we had to draw from and the sorry attitudes that a lot of these people have displayed.  You know, when that young girl called before rehearsal, I thought, 'That's it! Put a fork in me! I'm done!' But after tonight, after seeing all of you up there working your asses off, I just know that it's going to be a hell of a good show.  Give yourself a round of applause, my boy, because you all deserve it!" And he started to clap.

 

Now, I must confess to you, I really wasn't listening to much of Diamond's rehearsal pep talk, which I believe was personally not aimed at me but as a dry run for his pre-rehearsal pep talk at the next rehearsal.  No, my mind was too busy thinking, "This is it! What a great segue! Now I can talk theater and get this monkey off my back!" But I guess, in a way, I was at least half listening to what we said.  Or at least, rationalizing the tone and the subject matter.  Because, rather than a tactful, lovingly worded admonition, what came out was simply a blunt and incoherent

 

"Hunh."  And then, to clarify: "Thanks."

 

"No, thank you!" I've always hated it when people responded to your thank you by saying that.  I always feel as if I'm being upstaged in some way.  As if my thank you lacked value but theirs is more meaningful.

 

Look.  I had to do it.  And I had to do it now, before we got home.  It was dreadfully important that I got everything discussed during the seven point five minutes that it took to make our way from the Jeffrey A. Edwards Middle School to home sweet home.

 

"Um, Diamond--"

 

"What's up, Junebug?"

 

I bit my lip. "Lewis acted like an idiot tonight."  He had started dancing around singing Just No Time At All at the end of rehearsal after stealing a dress from the costume room.

 

"Lewis acts like an idiot every night. He's an insufferable oaf and completely perfect for the part.  Between him and that--pardon my French--(Head of) merde Jack St. Devine I feel as if I'm one stooge shy of Larry, Moe and Curly."

 

"What about Capris?"

 

"What about her?" He failed to get my joke.  It had been rather flimsy.  "I tell you, I'll be happy to finish this show and wash my hands of those two.  It reminds me of what Ethel Merman wrote in her autobiography, under the chapter heading, 'About My Marriage to Ernest Borgnine.'  She left the page completely blank! Completely! Blank!!  That'll be my thoughts on Lewis and Jack, too."

 

I couldn't help laughing, because I had just read the same story about Ethel Merman in an old tabloid at the hair salon Josie's mother runs.  But Diamond had never visited that salon.  Strange that he should bring that up, of all the stories and all the books out there.  How had his mind selected that one to tell now?

 

"Hey, Diamond--"  I started again.

 

We rounded a curve.  We were going uphill, towards a wide bridge that crossed over Interstate 95.

 

"Yes, my friend?"  I glanced out of the corner of my eye at him.  He was stretched out, his neck resting on the headrest, his eyes closed, a lifeless smile on his face.  I heard a noise.  I jerked my head back to the road.  Up ahead, by the bridge, I could see a police cruiser to my right.  What was going on?

 

"Well, I just wanted to talk to you about a few things."  I bit my lip.  I noticed cars to the side of the road, both to the right and to the left.  They couldn't have all been in an accident, could they?

 

"Such as?"

 

"Such as--"  I cautiously put my foot to the brake as I treaded dangerous ground.  In that moment, I realized exactly why the cars were scattered to and fro, like coins in a fountain.  It was the hail, and the wet ground that was starting to freeze, and the uphill incline of the road.

 

Scree!  My car lurched to the right, out of control.  Diamond cursed and jerk his head up, terrified.  I pumped at the brakes, doing everything that my drivers education training had explicitly told me not to do, but unable in my moment of need to reach out and pin down the proper instructions, to put them to their proper use.  All I could do was pray for the best.

 

The car hit the curb and stopped.  I took my foot off the brakes and placed the gear into park. Safe.  Thank God.  I put my head back and closed my eyes.  I could feel my heart beating a calypso beat within my chest cavity. 

 

"Jesus!" moaned Diamond.

 

"Christ," I said.  I opened my eyes slowly.  I realized for the first time that the car in front of me had gone into a skid, too.  We were damn lucky we hadn't collided.  "Well, that was fun."

 

"Woke me up," admitted Diamond.

 

"Now, what do I--"

 

"Just do what the car in front of you is doing.  Put your car into drive and start moving forward slowly.  Put your emergency brake on if you have to.  And if you start to slide, turn the wheel in the opposite direction."

 

"Diamond, you don't even drive!"

 

"You don't have to be a duck to recognize water.  Besides, I used to."

 

"What happened?"

 

"Just get across the bridge, okay? I don't want to talk about it." 

 

We moved forward slowly, at a snails pace, attempting to test the safety of the road beneath us  as a blind man would the vast black terrain that formed his vista.  We made it across in fits and starts, occasionally jerking to the left or to the right, marking our progress in landmarks--first, passing the police cruisers, then two downed vehicles that had collided and were stopped in their tracks square against the side of the bridge, their emergency flashers blinking on and off.  Finally, we made it across to the other side.  I kept my foot on the brake, fearful that the descent downward, with the added momentum, might make the descent even more dangerous.  We made it down all right, without even a skid.  Gradually, I started to feel safer.  I glanced over at Diamond and smiled gratefully.

 

"Are you all right?" I asked.

 

"Just fine," he replied.

 

"That was weird," I said loudly, grateful to escape without injury.

 

"Terrifying."

 

"It just started, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, like, like--"

 

"What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

 

"Oh."  I frowned.  How could I yell at this man, who I had just walked through the jaws of death with?  How could I possibly chastise him now?  But I had to say something, I just had to.  Even if--ah, there we go.

 

"Diamond," I started.  I tell you, it felt good to have an out.  "Could you do me a favor and take it a little easier on Josie?  It is her apartment, you know, and all of this moving of furniture and stuff, well--"

 

"You don't have to say another word."  Diamond cut me off so I didn't have an opportunity.  "Of course, you're absolutely right.  I promise to use a lighter touch when it comes to our domestic differences."

 

I beamed at him, although I was more pleased with myself than I was content with the compromise we had just concluded.  he theater issue could wait.  We didn't have rehearsal for two days, anyhow.  It was enough that I had fought the home front battle tonight. 

 

Diamond placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered to me in concern, as if Josie were in the car with us.  "But between you and me, could you get her to do something about the top of your refrigerator?  That appliance hasn't been dusted since you moved in!"

 

Sigh.

 

###

 

We lay in the darkness together, side-by-side, and whispered secretly to each other.  I felt like the Rosenburgs during the Cold War.

 

"Did you talk to him?" she asked.

 

"Yes."

 

"And what did he say?"

 

"He says you're just going to have to move out."

 

"Hah ha."

 

"He says he realizes he's been going a little overboard and promises to try and stay out of your way from now on.  He says he realizes he's been overstepping his bounds."  Well, not exactly, but it sure sounded good.

 

Too good for my lady, it appeared.  "He did?" she asked, skeptically.

 

I tried to joke my way out of it.  "Well, actually he said, 'I can't tell you how sorry I am--"  I mimicked Diamond, sotto voce, overextending the 'tell' and dripping with overdramatic concern.

 

"Oh, God..."

 

"You ever notice how he does that all the time? 'I can't tell you how sorry I am that I farted into the couch just now."     

 

Josie giggled.

 

"I can't tell you how bad I feel that I trimmed my beard over your bowl of potato salad."

 

"I know," she whispered.  "You want to say to him, 'Look, if you can't tell me, then don't say anything at all.'"

 

"Exactly."

 

I rolled over in bed, away from Josie, staring at the darkened wall.

 

"How did rehearsal go?" she asked.

 

"Well, that's another conversation I have yet to have with him," I replied.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Capris Handy cornered me during a break.  She thinks Diamond's overworking the cast.  She says I have a duty to talk to him."

 

"I thought the Board agreed that you didn't have to deal with things like--"

 

"I did, too."

 

"Why can't she talk to him herself?"

 

"I think she'd rather I do her dirty work."

 

I could just picture Josie scowling in the dark, her jaw clenched, her brows lowered.  "You should just tell her no."

 

I exhaled loudly.  Yeah, I probably should.

 

"I can't tell you how much I'd like to," I replied.

 

I heard the squeaks of the mattress as Josie turned over to face my direction.  I could feel her soft lips as she moved in to kiss my shoulder.  "You tense?" she asked.

 

"Just a little."  I tended to worry about things at night. About the theater, things that might happen, things that had been said. Things that had to get done.  It made it hard to sleep.

 

"I can tell you how to get rid of the tension," she whispered.

 

Do tell.

 

###

 

Without a doubt, my favorite memories of Diamond residing in our apartment revolve around food. One thing I'll swear to, hear and now, for all their bickering over turtle jars and coffee tables, Diamond and Josie were an unbeatable team in the kitchen.  And Anna and I were the fortunate recipients.

 

By far, their greatest collaborations took place on "Mexican Mondays," as Diamond christened them.  On those evenings, the two would dig in and concoct culinary creations that would send me South of the Border and straight to heaven both at the same time. Tacos, burritos, nachos, salsa...just thinking about those meals gets the saliva flowing.  Why, I've got an urge to drive down to a taco stand right now and recreate myself a pale imitation.

 

And bean dip.  They were at their very best with the bean dip!  They would hover over that little bubbling pot as if it were a caldron, stirring it and caressing it with little slices of jalapenos, a cucumber here, a splash of salsa there.  It would invariably be the last dish set on the table, too, as Diamond would tend to taste it, then add in another sprinkling of cheese, or Josie would heat it up a notch with a bit more hot sauce.  Pick, sprinkle, pick.  I personally didn't care how long it took, as long as it took.  I could snack all week long on that gift from the gods, and often times did.

 

I'm not exactly certain how we fell into the Mexican Monday routine.  The practice undoubtedly originated on a Saturday or Sunday, actually, but Diamond, with his fondness for the catch phrase, probably christened our weekly excursions as such one fine day and it just stuck in our heads as if it were a Carpenters song chanced upon on the radio.  And there it stayed.  I loved our Mexican Mondays, yes sir or ma'am, I surely did.

 

Owing to the fact that Josie arrived home at five, and that invariably there was a rehearsal was scheduled for Monday evening at seven thirty, the Mexican fiesta was not always the lengthy repast I would have wished for.  But we made due with the time we had.  Diamond would often set up beforehand and start the meal rolling before Josie arrived home with Anna, a routine that often carried over to the remainder of the week.  It was definitely a fringe benefit to having Diamond around.

 

Usually I, not possessing a culinary bone in my body (save for my mouth), and absolutely no desire to cultivate one, would use the preparation time to take a long bath and wash away all the worries and stresses that accumulated during the day, or hide away in my bedroom reading comic books, or stretch out on the floor of the living room to play video games with Anna.  Or, sometimes, I would sit at the kitchen table and observe how the other half lived. 

 

I was doing the latter on the Mexican Monday after my car accident with Diamond. That, and wondering what in the world I was going to say to Capris at rehearsal that night, considering the fact that it had almost been a week since our conversation and I had yet to even mention anything to Diamond regarding her carefully expressed concerns.

 

We had one rehearsal after that talk, and I had made it a point to avoid Capris as best I could.  Diamond had been less zealous that evening, but then again, it had only been a blocking rehearsal, there really wasn't much he could have gotten excited about.  Still, one more person had quit the show--Felix Zgniski, the seventy year old with heart problems. His wife had threatened to divorce him if he didn't back out of the show and take up something less stressful--like becoming an air traffic controller.

 

I had felt a little pity for Diamond that evening.  He had pleaded with Felix to stay in the show.  He didn't get down on his knees, but he came damn close.  He had promised Felix could sit out of the really intense dance numbers, wouldn't need to go to every rehearsal.  He had tried everything short of offering him my part.  But Felix wouldn't budge.  He had promised his wife he would quit and that was that.

 

Personally, I had my doubts about this wife thing.  I knew that Felix was good friends with Jack St. Divine and Leo Minor.  He had talked them into trying out, after all.  I wondered if they had complained so much that he saw quitting as the honorable way out.  It was just the way that he answered Diamond's questions.  They seemed a bit unconvincing, as if there were something more he wanted to say.  But I didn't say a word about my feelings to Diamond.

 

We hadn't spoken about it privately, but I just knew that the defections were weighing heavily on Diamond's mind.  At least, I hoped they were.  I knew they were worrying me.

 

"I think I'll make some chili tonight," Diamond called out, at the cupboards, looking through our groceries.  I observed him lifting up a can of waxed beans and frowning.  We had yet to dig into them.  I guess Josie was waiting for a special night.

 

"I hate chili," replied Josie.

 

"You haven't tasted mine," countered Diamond.

 

"Does it have meat in it?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Then I won't be."  Josie was a selective vegetarian.  Nine out of ten times it wasn't an issue.

 

The thought of encountering Capris with nothing new to report weighed upon the top of my shoulder.  I sat at the kitchen table, pretending to study my lines, and thinking, thinking, thinking.

 

"Hey Diamond," I called out.

 

"Yes, Pippin, my boy?"

 

"Do you think there'll be any defections tonight?"

 

Diamond frowned and pulled at his mustache.  "Sure hope not.  Pretty soon I'll have to change that 'Over Thirty Local Performers' advertisement to read 'Well over a Baker's dozen.'" He turned his attention back to Josie.  "Do you think we have time for cornbread?"

 

"No," she said firmly.

 

"Why do you think so many people have quit?" I ventured forth, timidly.  Probably not a great time to bring all this up.  The guys going to be calling the shots in a couple of hours.  He needs to be built up, not torn down.  Oh, well.  I was under a deadline.

 

"Massive bad taste, most likely.  Okay, well, anyone want me to cook up some waxed beans?"

 

Josie and I glanced at each other, trying not to laugh.  I'm not sure if Diamond caught on, because he slammed (well, at least, it seemed like a slam) shut the cupboard and said, "Waxed beans  it is, then."

 

"You don't ever worry that you might be pushing them too hard, do you?" I asked.  Blame it on the waxed beans.

 

"Actually, I worry about that all the time."  Diamond moved towards me, an earnest look on his face.  He got right into my face.  I could smell his breath, a fetid mixture of cigarettes, peppermint and plaque.  "I was worrying about it the night I cast the show.  Of course I ride everyone too hard." 

 

I blinked.  "But why--?"

 

He shrugged.  "You think I enjoyed pushing around an old geezer like Felix?  But I can't stop pushing them, Matt--I can't! If I do that, where's the challenge? Where's my next stop, directing some stupid-ass sex comedy for the greyhairs to get drunk by? I might as well give it all up and move back to Tulsa at that point!"

 

I wished he would move away from he!  His eyes had a wild look.  I felt as if he were pleading with me.

 

"You're doing a great job, Diamond," I replied benignly, as a crucifix with which to ward off evil spirits.

 

He ignored me.  "I'm not pushing them hard enough," he said defiantly.  Then, as quickly as it came, the storm seemed to pass.  He turned towards Josie and I breathed a sigh of relief.  "Where's that can opener?" he asked.

 

###

 

I asked Diamond to help me with my lines on the car ride to rehearsal.  He was more than happy to lend a hand.

 

"Father, I wanted to speak with you about--"  I said.

 

"It's 'I wanted to talk to you about," scolded Diamond.  Diamond had re-written the script to the show, taking out a lot of what he called "dead weight."  He had also changed the ending.  In the original, Pippin is being urged to get burned to bits, to meet a "flaming end," to "think about the sun."  Diamond substituted that prospect for a golden goblet filled with hemlock.  It really cut down on costs.  He also added two songs to the show, both late seventies/early eighties soft rock ditties.  I really wished he hadn't done that.  Especially since I had to sing one of them.  Secretly, I hoped he would eventually cut them out, and had deliberately avoided learning the words yet.  Passive aggressive behavior on my part.

 

"Father, I wanted to talk to you, about--I mean, I wanted to ask--"

 

"Try it again.  It's, 'Father, I wanted to talk to you about, that is, I wanted to ask--"

 

"Does that really matter?"  I asked.  I tried not to show my irritation, really I did.  It didn't matter.  Diamond just flashed me a look.  I grimaced. 

 

"Father, I wanted to talk to you about, that is--I wanted to ask--"

 

Diamond mimicked Jack St. Divine's voice, bellowing, boisterous, manly.  Jack was dating a female impersonator who worked in Boston.  "Just look at the time!  Well, must be off.  I've got a hanging to oversee.  We must do this again soon."

 

"Oh, Father," I said.

 

"But Father."

 

"But Father," I repeated.

 

"No, don't say it as if you're sad.  Say it as if you're desperate to get his attention."

 

"But Father!"

 

"But Father!  Give me MORE!"

 

"BUT Father!"  I tried to sound as desperate as I possibly could.  "Was that desperate enough?"

 

"If you have to ask, it isn't!  Anyway, Charles says, 'And if you need anything from your dear, old blah blah blah...Falcon and horse I gave you and go hunting."

 

I was slowing down for a red light and I didn't have a clue what he had just said."

 

"Matt?"

 

"What?" I asked.  The light turned green and I started to accelerate forward.  I had my eye on a little old lady wearing a purple beret and looking to cross the street.

 

"Blah blah blah falcon and horse I gave you to go hunting!"

 

"Oh, um, well..."

 

"Focus, Matt!  You've got to know these lines as if they're the back of your hand!  The line is, 'Yes sire.'  Got that?  Two little words.  'Yes, sire.'"

 

I kept my eyes on the road, but I was starting to see red.

 

"I'll focus when I get in the theater.  All I wanted to do was to go over my lines.  But you keep making me backtrack so many times it's hard to stay focused."

 

He rolled down the passenger's side window.  "I know, Matt.  But you've got to--"

 

"I'm also driving the car, too, you know.  It's kind of hard to emote without getting us into an accident."

 

Diamond opened his cigarette carton and peered inside.  "Hey, would you do me a favor and pull off to that Dairy Plaza on the left?"

 

"I'm also one of the few actors in the show who know all their lines."

 

"You're also the lead, Matt."

 

"Right.  So I've also got the most lines!  So give me a break if I say, 'Oh, Father,' instead of 'Hey, Father!'"

 

Diamond lit his cigarette and breathed in deeply.  Then he puffed out into the cold air outside.  And then he waited a minute--he was mentally thinking of a beat, I swear, and said, "The line is 'But, Father.'"

 

I pulled into the Dairy Plaza parking lot.  I knew he'd want to finish his last cigarette before he got out of the car to purchase another pack.  The school where the show was performed prohibited smoking inside the theater, so Diamond watched most of the rehearsals from the emergency exit by the stage, puffing away furiously.  I put the

car into park and turned off the motor.

 

We sat in the car in silence. I grabbed at my script and started thumbing through it. 

 

"You'd better buy your cigarettes soon or we'll be late," I cautioned.

 

"Yeah."  He threw the butt out the window.  He looked out at the sky, in the direction of the setting sun.  Nighttime was about to fall.  "You know, Matt, I'm only trying to bring you to the level I know you can be at."

 

"I know," I replied sullenly.  "I've been working hard to get there, too."

 

"You've got to keep pushing.  Even if you feel like relaxing.  Otherwise, you'll fail."  He turned to me.  "You remember when we were working on Jesus Christ, Superstar, together?"

 

I remembered.  He had played Jesus, I had played Judas.  He had saved my theatrical butt in that show.  By the time the director had gotten to the title number, he had completely run out of ideas, and had just instructed me to go out and sing the song, and do whatever I thought looked good.  Considering that I possessed the grace and dance form of Frankenstein, I got the impression that my invented dance moved were pretty scary.  But Diamond didn't laugh.  He had taken me aside and helped me to fashion an escape ladder.  I had always been grateful for the help.

 

"You remember that last performance, at the end of the Last Supper, where all the other Apostles are asleep, and you're sneaking out to contact Caiphas?  Right before you sing--"

 

"You sad, pathetic man," I sang.

 

"There was a moment--when I grabbed your shoulder to turn you around, and you looked up at me--"

 

I smiled.  "And I had tears in my eyes."

 

"Right!  And I looked at you, and I said to myself, 'Woah.  This isn't acting any more.  This is real.  And it carried over through the rest of the play."

 

"I felt the same way.  It was as if there was a connection--"

 

"Right! A powerful connection.  The characters took on a life of their own."

 

"Yes."

 

"I mean, it wasn't just you and I on that stage any more, it was bigger than that, it was, it was as if we had tapped into something..."

 

"Yes!"

 

"Something pretty damn deep."  Diamond started to open his car door.  "I want to tap into that magic again."

 

Yes! So did I.  That had been my most powerful moment on stage.  I remembered that night, being unable to stop crying after the show had ended.  I must have looked like an idiot.  But I had tapped into something on that day, something I had not wanted to let go of.  Months later, I swear, I had still felt it, almost as if it were a living presence.  I could conjure it up on car rides alone, or before I fell asleep at night. But as the months passed by, so had the feeling. 

 

I should have mentioned more about that feeling.  But instead I simply said, "I haven't gotten that feeling with this play."

 

"Give it time.  It may come."  He started to lift himself out of the car, but kept on talking.  "I blame part of it on myself, really.  I haven't been able to spend much time on my part, since I'm focusing on everyone else.  I've got to develop my character ASAP with a capital A."

 

"Concentrate, Diamond," I joked.

 

"Oh, I'm trying to, my friend, as hard as I can."  He got out of the car, then swooped around and stuck his head back in the window.  "But you make it awfully hard," he whispered coquettishly.

 

Then, off he went! I watched him make his way into the store.  Now what was that supposed to mean?

 

###

 

I'm not sure if our conversation in the car had any bearing on it, but Diamond decided to devote half the rehearsal that night working on 'Simple Joys,' a song and dance sequence that only minimally featured some in the chorus, but maximally served as a showcase for his character, the Narrator.

 

Well, his shared character. But Diamond wasn't really in the mood for sharing that night.  He claimed he needed to make certain he got the moves down just right, before teaching the number to someone else, and relegated C.J. Rudder to the audience area, where most of us sat, somewhat bored.  I heard a few question why they had to be there just to watch Diamond play with himself. 

 

Now, you'll note, I said heard.  I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, lurking in the shadows, my nose stuck in my script. 

 

From time to time I cast a look to the stage, then to C.J., sitting pensively in the front row.  It was killing him to remain seated like that, watching HIS character get developed.  I smiled.

 

The musical director, Raj Hashid, was looking like he wished to pull out and ring the unruly mop of hair atop his head, as if it were a mop pulled from a basement floor. Raj was known for his theatrical flair behind the conductor's stand.  Sometimes it was more fun to watch Raj than the actual production, with his over pronounced arms reaching to the sky during crescendos, or his precise, dainty little movements to emphasis staccato segments.  But from what I could take in during my glances stage-way, I could discern that in this instance, Raj was working hard to suppress his emotions, not flaunt them.

 

"Oh! I want this number to have a Caribbean flavor," Diamond was saying, having interrupted Raj for the fifteenth time.  They had yet to get beyond the first verse.

 

"I know, you told me this," said Raj patiently, valiantly attempting to douse the flames that were kindling in his dark brown eyes.  "We're doing the best we can."  He glanced over at the pianist, Don Antunes, who never, to the best of my recollection, appeared anything less than pleasant.  Tonight, even his cracks seemed to be showing.  His smile appeared thin and tight, like an over inflated balloon, even from way down my way in the back of the bus.

 

"But it's not Caribbean enough," complained Diamond.  He turned around to face the dancers behind him to prove his point.  "Right, girls?"

 

"We're trying the best we can, protested Raj.  "You know, it's kind of hard to get what you're looking for with only a piano.  If you had given me some advance warning, I would have hired a Mariachi band."

 

Diamond started to say something, then stopped, tempted.

 

"Fifteen hundred dollars more," warned Raj, knowing full well what was going on underneath Diamond's pate.  "At least.  For just one number."

 

"Oh, my.  That wouldn't be economically feasible, would it?" Diamond sighed.  Behind him, Lady Sheba, who Diamond had threatened to dress up like Carmen Miranda, breathed a sigh of relief.  "But still. Can you play something on that synthesizer of yours--?"

 

"Maybe I could work on something," said Raj begrudgingly. He was in fact a pitifully poor piano player and really struggled on the keyboards.  "But you didn't give me any notice.  I'd need to work it out at home."

 

"You couldn't just add a Calypso beat now, so I could get into the rhythm?"

 

"I can try," conceded Raj.  "But I'm not sure if it will help."

 

I heard a contemptuous laugh from the front row,

 

I could tell that Diamond heard it, too, because his face started to get red, although he refused to glance in the direction of the laugh.  I did it for him.  The laugh had come from C.J.  Capris was sitting in the row behind him, next to Jack St. Divine.  C.J. was turned around, whispering into her ear.  She was grinning and nodding her head up and down, like a yo-yo.

 

Raj started to fiddle with his synthesizer.  "How's this?" he asked, testing a beat.

 

"Too slow," complained Diamond.

 

"How about this?"

 

"Faster!"

 

Finally, they reached a beat they could agree on.  Raj looked at Dan, who nodded his head and furiously scribbled into his score.  "Okay, let's try it."

 

They started the piano introduction again, at ten times the speed of sound.  Diamond grinned and started to wiggle his hips.  "I like it, mon, I like it!" he called out.

 

Raj pointed to Diamond, his cue to start singing.  Diamond just kept dancing, grabbing Lady Sheba by the waist and twisting her around.  Raj frowned.

 

"Diamond, it's your cue," he called out.

 

"That's all the intro I get?" Diamond complained.

 

"That's all the intro that's written," replied Raj.

 

"Then double it!" Diamond exclaimed.  "Better yet, triple it! We can work up something for that, can't we?" He released Lady Sheba from his grasp, although he had directed the question to her.  She kind of squiggled up her face.

 

Dammit!  I had made the mistake of staring at the stage for too long.  I noticed Capris out of the corner of my eye, turning around to look my way, then rise from her seat to head down the center aisle.  In desperation, I tried to bury myself back in my script.  I was at the scene where I killed my father...

 

No use.  While Diamond continued on his Jamaican fantasy, I could hear the footsteps of Capris making her way towards my hide-hole, a dirge-like counterpoint to the happy Calypso beat.  Finally, I could ignore her no longer.  I looked up from the script.  She stood there, her arms crossed, her lacquered magenta nails dangerously close to my eyeballs.

 

"You're not going to let this go on, are you?" she demanded to know.

 

"I wasn't planning on stopping it," I said defensively.  What was I supposed to do, take over the show? "I've got lines to memorize, anyway."

 

"C.J.'s about to walk from the show, you know," she continued.  "He says he'd rather sing the song naked than dance in this--fiesta. "  She made a fiesta sound like a bad thing.  "Personally, I think Diamond looks ridiculous."

 

Onstage, Diamond let out a cry of "Ariba!" and shook his hiney to the audience.

 

I gulped.  "I don't think he looks that bad," I lied.  "Very animated.  But if you're concerned about it, why don't you talk to him yourself?  You're his friend.  He'd listen to you."

 

"I'm afraid of what I might say to him," she replied.

 

"I already spoke to him today," I said, trying to throw some raw meat at the hungry lion.

 

"You did?" Capris looked doubtful.

 

"I did."  Well, a little bit, at the kitchen table.  And so what if he ignored me?  So what if it had been a feeble attempt?  She didn't need to know that.  And besides, it was more than she had done to his face.

 

"And what did he say?"

 

"He said he'd take it into consideration," I lied.  "He knows that he's been driving the cast hard."  Which was the truth.  "Maybe that's why he's taking it easy on them tonight. Maybe, maybe--"

 

"Cast!" Diamond bellowed out, signifying an end to 'Simple Joys' for the evening.

 

"But I'll talk to him again," I whispered, desperate to please.

 

"We'll take five minutes and then I want you on stage for Act Two," continued Diamond.  "Meanwhile, C.J., can you please come to the stage?  I want to hear the beginning of 'Glory' right now."

 

"Right now?" C.J. called out.

 

Diamond glared at him.  "Do you have something better to do?"

 

Capris shook her head, insulted by the tone.  "C.J. has a cold tonight," she whispered to me. 

 

"No, but I have a bad cold, and--"

 

"Do you have a bad cold now?  Perhaps you should leave."

 

Capris whispered, "He will, if he keeps this up."

 

C.J. shrugged, his thin face impassive, his hands clenched.  "It's getting better."

 

"Then let's see you on stage!"

 

"Okay, but I won't be able to hit the high notes!" C.J. protested.

 

"You were having trouble with the high notes before you got your cold!" Diamond called out.  "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

 

"That's not fair," whispered Capris.

 

"Can we try it after rehearsal?" asked C.J.  "After everyone has left?"

 

"Okay...I'm an open-minded kind of guy," replied Diamond, although something about the tone of his voice suggested that he wasn't on this particular topic.  "We can try it later on.  I'd suggest resting your voice until then."

 

Diamond hopped off the stage and walked down the auditorium towards Capris and me.  His scalp looked wet and shiny.  The whisps of hair he usually pulled forward were slicked back.

 

"Capris, I need to talk to you for a moment," he said when he reached us.  He grabbed at her elbow.  She rolled her eyes upward, then turned around.  "I was wondering if you had any suggestions on how I could improve 'Simple Joys.'"

 

"Put another actor in the role," she replied tartly, then laughed and said she was just joking.  Diamond looked as if he had been punched in the gut.

 

###

 

Well, CJ lost his opening solo to Glory that night. Diamond and the vocal coach, Caroline Marcus,  felt that he couldn't cut the mustard with the high notes.  What, I haven't mentioned Caroline before?  Well, there's not to say, and I'm certain it wasn't entirely her decision. Caroline was a thin, nervous girl.  She also played my love interest. 

 

So both agreed that the opening section of Glory should go my way, much to my delight. Although, I didn't say anything, I was also positive that the change benefited Diamond as well.  Since he shared the role of the Leading Player with CJ--in other words, Diamond played the part of the Emcee on some nights, CJ on others--Diamond wouldn't have to worry about hitting the high notes either.  Truth to tell, after decades of smoking at least a pack a day, Diamond had less of a chance of reaching them than CJ, even if CJ came down with pneumonia.

 

Of course, CJ had protested this, begging Diamond for another chance in a week.   Diamond had coldly informed him if he wished to work on the song after hours, he'd be happy to reconsider in two. But, he added, his decision had been made on the recommendation of Caroline Marcus, who had her doubts that he'd ever be able to hit them.  CJ, who, by the way, was a voice major in college, left the rehearsal fuming.

 

"Aren't you afraid he'll quit the show?" I whispered to Diamond after CJ walked out.

 

"He's not quitting the show," replied Diamond, who went back to collecting his artifacts, his cigarettes, his scarf, wedged inside of one of the cushioned seats in the front row of the theater.  "He wants this too much.  But I'll tell you what he will do."  He winked at me and threw his leather jacket over his bony frame.  "He'll be as good as gold for the next two weeks.  AND he'll get that solo down picture perfect.  Just you wait and see."

 

I was in the process of pushing a flat up against the back stage.  I tried to act disinterested.  "Will you?" I asked.

 

"Will I what, dahlink?"

 

"Give it back?"

 

"I might."

 

I jumped off the proscenium onto the red-carpeted floor that spread out below.  "Gee, thanks a lot."

 

Diamond feigned surprise.  "For what?"

 

"Giving me a solo I'll never get to sing."  I went to grab my script.

 

"You'll get to sing it," he said.  His tone implied I was being petty, which I probably was.  "You've got my nights now, remember?  Just make sure he doesn't con you out of them."

 

Diamond was strangely quiet on the car ride home that night.  It wasn't like him.  Usually he led the conversation and I followed.  Not that evening.  I wasn't certain if the silence was due to his confrontation with CJ or Capris' put down, which I knew had wounded him.  Which it had been meant to. 

 

*************(CUT OUT THIS SECTION?)******************

Those two had a strange relationship.  They had been friends for many years, since Superstar, where Capris had played Mary Magdeline to his Jesus.  Capris possessed a strong singing voice but had little acting experience at the time.  Diamond had served as a mentor to her.  I had watched them backstage, sharing a cigarette and a bottle of Jack Daniels before the curtain went up.  For a while there the rumor had it that they were dating.  I think that Capris half believed this rumor, since she broke up with her fiancée during the course of the show. Diamond had been there to dry her eyes, but not fill her heart.

 

Maybe the length and depth of their friendship explained why Capris could get away with being so contemptuous of Diamond, behind his back often, and, in rare events, like this evening, to his face.  I always felt that familiarity can often breed brusqueness, as a person becomes blind and contemptuous of the very things that once attracted you to a person.

*********************************

 

In any event, I struggled to take the lead in the car that night.  It was awkward.  We ended up covering the same old ground, again and again.  How the rehearsal had gone.  Whatever dumb thing Lewis had said or done that night.  Whether the show would actually ever go up or not.

 

Finally, in desperation, I blurted out, "You know, it's always been a dream of mine to play Pippin."  I'm not sure why I said it.  I mean, I guess it was.  I remember being a teenager and singing loudly to the record in my room.  My sister had remarked with a great deal of irritation that you could hear me two blocks down, and it was embarrassing, so could I please stop it?  But I had kept on singing.  Still, it wasn't like I was lighting a candle every night or anything.  Especially not to play Pippin, since I much preferred Diamond's part, since he had the more interesting songs. 

 

But I know that I wished I had been like Pippin.  Most of the guys I had seen play him were tall with long, blond hair. In contrast, I stood five foot six and my hair was dark, on the thinning side.  It looked like a bird's nest if it grew too long.  It would have been nice to be someone else.

 

Diamond sat back in his seat, his head looking up at the ceiling, his eyes closed.  "Funny," he drawled lazily.  "It was always my dream to be the Leading Player." 

 

"Then I guess we're both fulfilling our dreams."

 

Diamond chuckled, but I could not detect an ounce of humor in his tone.  "I'd have preferred to have accomplished this noble goal somewhere other than Eldredge."

 

"Well," I replied, as if that were an answer.  "At least you're accomplishing it somewhere." 

 

"Am I?"

 

I wasn't sure what to say.  I started fumbling about to say something, but thankfully Diamond cut me off before I had to stumble too far.

 

"I wonder what's been going on with Capris lately."  I believed he was changing the subject.  "She's seemed awfully cold of late."

 

"Yeah, well, maybe, maybe she has something on her mind."  I replied, more as an ill phrased warning.

 

"I wonder if she meant it when she said I should find another actor to play my role."

 

"You already have another actor playing your role."

 

"Maybe that's who she meant."  He was up off his seat now, alert, fretting.  He didn't resemble the confident man I was used to seeing.  He seemed more like...well... "Do you think?" he asked.

 

"If she did, she's dead wrong," I replied passionately.  "CJ couldn't fill your shoes for a second."

 

"Maybe not acting or directing, but he's a damn better singer," said Diamond honestly.  "Not a bad dancer, either.  He's younger, so he's got more stamina than I do."

 

"I personally think the acting's more important--"

 

"Ah!  But had he been competing against me fifteen years ago, when I was in my prime!"  Diamond's smile grew genuine, his shoulders arched back, doubtless remembering his past.  "I could have run circled around him.  I played off Broadway at his age! He's doing community theater."

 

"Diamond, I always meant to ask you..." I clicked my left directional on and started to turn the car on to our street.  "Why did you leave New York to move up here?"

 

"I still do go back to New York from time to time, you know," he said, struggling to maintain his bravado.  "I was an extra on the soap opera Loving just a year and a half ago! Did a two-day gig.  I played an orderly in the hospital."  He coughed, softly.  "But to answer you truthfully, I had a dear companion who passed away under quite unfortunate circumstances.  After my friend's departure, I felt the need to get out of the Big Apple for a while.  Now, I suppose that I could have chosen to take up with a stock company, and travel the country, but instead I chose to pack up my bags and hook up with an old friend who was fronting a newly formed theater group in Providence."

 

"The Providence Partnership," I recalled, ever the good student.

 

"Correct."

 

"That's how you ended up in Superstar."

 

"Right.  Your director paid me to accept the lead."

 

"He made a good investment."

 

"I can certainly see why you said that, since I chose to stick around and help you get this group off the ground," he said affectionately.  He hummed and tapped the dashboard.  "Still, I guess at my age, I won't be performing on the Great White Way any time in the future.  For what that's worth."

 

"You don't know that."

 

"Yes I do.  But it's okay, Matt.  Something my grandmother always said, something I say to myself practically every day, 'there are all kinds of ways to measure success.'"

 

"You're not a failure, Diamond."

 

Diamond flashed me a look.  "Who ever said that I was?"

 

"Not me, that's for sure!"  I started to pull into our driveway.  I crunched down the short stretch of pavement and parked next to my lady's beat up blue pick up.  I stopped the car.  I thought of something I had never dreamed of sharing with him.  "You know, I'm not sure if this is related at all, but it just came into my head.  You know that I went to a local college here and majored in theater arts administration, right?"

 

He smiled.  "I always forget the official title."

 

"It is a mouthful," I said sheepishly.  "I started out my freshman year undecided.  Then I decided upon Education, to copy my Dad.  Then I chose Business Management.  But I always wanted to write, you know? I was always writing plays, I even turned my freshman year of High School into a novel!  And to tell you the truth, the Business Management stuff just weighed me down.  It was so goddamn boring. I felt as if I were going to lose my mind if I stuck with it.  So one day, I went to a professor I knew in the theater department and approached him with a few of what I thought were my better plays and I asked him, "Could you read these and tell me if I have any writing talent at all?  Just give me an honest answer, yes or no.  If the answer's no, I'll just stick with business.'"

 

Diamond chuckled and shook his head.  "What a terrible position for someone to be in."

 

I wasn't certain if was referring to the professor, or me but I continued on.  "Well, I'm not certain if the answer he gave was completely truthful, but it was nice enough to get me to change my major."

 

"I'm sure that took a lot of convincing."  I didn't get mad.  I knew he was just teasing me.

 

"Anyway, we had agreed that we would submit one of my plays to the theater faculty as a possible production during my senior year. Before that, Doc had always been urging me to go to more functions on campus, you know, get more involved, meet more people, schmooze.  But you know me.  I can't schmooze to save my life.  I still can't."  No wonder I'm such an inspiring President...

 

"So I kind of ignored him, thinking my writing was the important thing, that if the material was good enough, that sort of thing didn't matter. And besides, the people there were too close knit and didn't exactly welcome me with open arms."  I stopped and closed my eyes.  "Or maybe I was just too scared to make much of an effort."

"Didn't you act in a few productions?"

 

"In one, Diamond, my freshman year.  Well, my junior year, I decided to try out for the spring musical.  Guys and Dolls.  Always loved the music.  But Christ, Diamond, I was cast in the dance troupe.  You more than anyone knows that dancing's not my strong suit. And I still felt all alone.  During the first play, I used to feel so alone, I'd get physically ill backstage.  Anyway, I quit.  I wish I'd stuck it through."

 

"You really should have."

 

"Don't get me wrong, I still did community theater here and there, just to stay active, but, you know--"

 

"It's not the same thing."  I glanced over in Diamond's direction.  I had been looking away.  It was hard to talk and look at him.  He was hunched over, rubbing his temple.  But his tone.  I'm not sure, I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was like--

 

"No, it's not.  Anyway, so this Professor--Doc, I would call him.  He always hated when I'd call him that.  It was like Perry White--"Don't call me Chief," that sort of thing.  we picked out three plays to submit for consideration.  He agreed he'd direct one of them, any one they chose.  So finally, we were scheduled to go to a faculty meeting, where they were supposed to plan their season.  There were two student representatives there who were part of the Playreading Committee."

 

"No," groaned Diamond.  Why?

 

"Let me tell you something, Diamond, I started out that meeting sitting straight back in my chair with a stupid smile on my face, sure they'd have nothing but nice things to say.  Why would I think anything different?  No one had ever said bad things about my writing before.  Not in High School, at least.  But by the time I got out of there, I was slunk back lower in my chair than a man convicted of the death penalty.  I just wanted to turn invisible and get the hell out."

 

"Jeezus," he whispered.  "I know that--"

 

But I was, as you have no doubt guessed, on something of a roll.  I wasn't about to let him interject that easily.  "I heard one professor say that he lost patience with the first script halfway through the Second Act.  One of the student reps said that a member of the Playreading Committee called one of the scripts the worst play they had ever read in their life.  The costume head declined to work on any of them because she didn't find any of the plays theatrically interesting. Banished by the costume head!"

 

I glanced over again.  Diamond appeared astounded, you know, that, my mouth's open, lift up my jaw before it hits my nuts look.  I don't think he was acting, but you never knew.  I hated telling the story.  I didn't do it very often.  Only Josie really knew within the theater.  It wasn't exactly a high point on my resume.

 

I grinned innocently.  "What?"

 

"I just can't believe that...I mean, did they know you were in the room?"

 

"Doc did bring the fact up at one point.  I think someone said they didn't know who Matt Edwards was, and he said, "Well, he's right here, would you like to talk to him?"  And I kind of tried to unslink myself and spit out a hello, but it was transformed into a rhetorical question, and well...you know.  Anyway, I guess I got the answer to that question about my writing that I had thrown on Doc the year before.  Only by that time I was in my senior year and it was a little too late to start over in Business."

 

"You would have hated business."

 

"You're right, I would have.  But what the hell use is what I've got?  well, I think that Doc was a bit embarrassed about the whole thing.  We started to keep our distance. I do believe he really meant to help me out, even now.  I just wish, I...I had been..."  

 

"Jesus," repeated Diamond.  Yeah, you had been, in Jesus Christ Superstar.

 

"But you go on, you know?  I mean, I tried not to let it get me down.  What am I going to do?  Hey, maybe all I'll ever have will be the fact that I'm President of this little community theater and I got to play Pippin in your production of this show.  Shit, is that a bad thing?"

 

"It's not a bad thing."  Diamond spoke really softly. A few houses down, someone started up their engine.  And cars honked on the highway in the distance.  And I stood still, listening to him talk softly, and thinking about what I had just shared with him.  "Not a bad thing at all, Matt."

 

I shivered.  It was a cold night.  I had turned off the car about five minutes ago.  We sat there in the dark, both of us looking out into the night, peering through the mist that had started to form on the glass windows.  Weeks ago, Anna had written "I Love Mom" on Diamond's side and the writing could still be seen, faded, smudged, but still visible.  It warmed me up.

 

"I had a similar experience," whispered Diamond.  "My senior year of college.  We all were required to take an Acting final in order to complete our courses.  I chose a monologue from King Lear and practiced for weeks to get it just right.  I mean weeks.  I swear, my roommate knew it by heart, and he had trouble remembering the Pledge of Allegiance... And I had this instructor---ah, I know he never liked me.  Anyway, I performed the piece.  Did pretty well, I think.  The comments from the class were pretty positive.  But after the class, just before I was about to leave that goddamn room forever, the Professor called me over and looked me in the eye...and he said, "Aaron"--because that's my real name, you know, when I was but a Diamond in the rough. He said, "Aaron, I'm going to give you a passing grade because your parents spent a lot of money for you to come to this college.  And I do think that you try very hard.  But let me give you some free advice.  You can take it, if you want, but knowing you, you'll probably leave it."

 

"And then he looked me in the eye and said, "Go back to Tulsa, Diamond, find a nice girl, and settle down.  Don't make this your life's work.  You just haven't got it, my boy." He actually said my boy, as if he were my daddy or something.  "You haven't got it, my boy."  Damn."  Diamond hunted around for his packet of cigarettes.  I was surprised it had taken him that long.  "I'd have given anything to prove that bastard wrong."

 

I smiled at him.  "Me too."

 

"Still would."  Diamond winked at me.  "Well then, my boy, we've still got a bit more work left to do, don't we?"  He patted me on the knee and lit up his cigarette.  "You'd better go upstairs.  Josie's going to start wondering what happened to us pretty soon and call the police."

 

"Yeah."  I opened up my side of the car.  Diamond just sat there.  "You coming up?"

 

He rolled down his window.  "In a few minutes.  I just want to finish this cigarette."  I hung back a bit, unsure if I really wanted to leave the comfort of our shared mutual failures.

 

###

 

During the next rehearsal, Caroline Marcus and I were scheduled to have one of our final scenes together blocked. As I said, in addition to being the vocal coach, Caroline also played the role of Catherine, Pippin's love interest.  They have a big fight towards the end of the play that causes Pippin to storm off her estate in a huff. Of course, all works out in the end.  This was a musical comedy, after all.

 

Though only a blocking rehearsal, the two of us, probably the only two in the play still left on Diamond's good side, had our lines down cold.  I'll confess, I at the very least was looking to show off that night.

 

The fight scene was a short one, taking place immediately after we sang our love song.  (I think Diamond had some idea that it represented a study in contrasts.) The fight itself literally erupted out of nowhere.  Although I can't say for sure, I do believe it was a scene that Diamond had basically re-written in its entirety.  Pretty much like the rest of the play, actually.

 

"That's it!" I'm supposed to cry out, and head for the door, which Caroline then rushes over to block.  "I've gotta get out of here!"  Or, as Diamond typed it out in the script, "I've got'ta get out'ta here!"  I'm not certain where the extras commas originated from. 

 

"Stop," Diamond called out, as soon as we got to that point.  He sat in the second row of theater, his long legs dangling over the chairs in front of him.  "Caroline, your little speech has got to be more ingratiating, and make sure you really hit the section 'years ahead of us'--'years ahead of us?' That's the last thing he wants to hear!"

 

"Right," said Caroline, with an ingratiating little laugh.

 

"And Pip, you're 'I gotta get out of here' has GOT to be solid.  This woman is trying to trap you, which is the last thing you want in your life.  You've got to rush to that door like it means freedom!"

 

"Right," I said agreeably.

 

"But Caroline, you've got to be even faster! Ha ha! Okay, let's do it all over again!" Diamond clapped his hands.

 

So we did it again.  And this time, Diamond stopped us at the same exact spot.

 

"No!" he called out.  "Caroline--more conniving! Pippin--more...MORE! Again!"

 

So we did it again.  Now you certainly can't say we weren't open to direction.  We threw ourselves into the section as if we were lemmings at a cliff.  And it did pay off for us.  It enabled us to advance forward one more line.

 

Catherine's line, to be exact--"Have we done something wrong?"

 

"Stop!" screamed out Diamond, unwrapping his legs from the chairs and advancing forward towards the stage.  "Guys, get over here for a minute."  I glanced over at Caroline.  Her face was impassive, professional.  Glad she was able to keep her cool.  I personally was starting to get annoyed.

 

He jumped on to the stage and stared us down.  I could tell he was talking in the imperial, trying to sound friendly but unable to mask the condescending edge to his voice, as if secretly he felt this bit of instruction so obvious it needn't have been voiced. "Caroline, have you ever had times with your husband where you saw him headed for the door and you had absolutely no freaking idea what you had done? Maybe you started vacuuming during a football game, or threw away his favorite ripped shirt? What would your reaction be if he started heading for the door?"

 

"For those things?" Caroline made a face.  "Well, I'm not sure I'd be running to block the door.  Unless I was going to open it to let him out, but--"

 

"Well, let's pretend that you actually care for the guy."  Ooh. Low blow.  Diamond had confided to me that Caroline and her husband were having problems.  I noticed that Caroline bit her lip.

 

He turned on me.  "And Matt, have you ever felt trapped by Josie, and little Anna, and ever felt the urge to just get the hell out of that tiny little apartment and drive away in that Ford Mustang of yours? Like maybe on a night when she's come home late from work, and the place is a mess, and Anna is tired or grouchy and all Josie's cooking is grilled cheese and Chef-Boy-R-Dee for the second night in a row? How fast would you charge out of that kitchen if you got the chance?"

 

I glanced again at Caroline.  Was he deliberately trying to piss us off? It was working.

 

"Okay!" he exclaimed.  "Let's try it again!"

 

So we tried it again.  And I guess he got what he wanted from us, because after every line he'd chuckle or cry something out in delight.  Especially when Caroline rushed to the door and said, "Have we done something wrong?"  At that point he clapped his hands and hooted.

 

Well, that felt pretty good.  So I proceeded forward in the section, emboldened.

 

I crossed to sit in a chair.  "It's not you--it's me!  All of this--it isn't enough for someone like me.  Catherine, life is more than dead ducks, and leaky hen houses, and, and--"

 

"CUT!" barked out Diamond, glaring at me.  "Matthew, did I ask you to add one more 'and' to that sentence?"

 

"Sometimes he can be a royal prick," muttered Caroline under her breath, but somehow managing to keep her smile in place.

 

"SOMEtimes?" I whispered back.

 

Diamond appeared impatient.  "Okay, guys, that's getting a little better, but it still needs work.  Let's take a five minute break right now, so that I--I mean, so that we can try it again.  Caroline, can I talk to you in private for a moment?"

 

Caroline shrugged and left me alone on the stage.  I started to head towards the side door in order to get a drink of water.  I lifted aside the backdrop and started to open the door that led into the hallway.  From outside, I could hear the heavy voice of Jack St. Devine.  I could hear CJ and Leo, laughing.

 

"Think about your scalp, Pippin," Jack was singing. "Think about it's shiny glare.  How it lights the stage up, without that much hair..."

 

I stepped into the hallway.  They were to my right, spread out on the floor.  Jack stopped singing when I entered.  Leo smirked. 

 

I spied a pile of fold-up chairs standing by the outside of the door.  Easy, Matt, part of me was saying, but that part never won when I started to see red.

 

I kicked at the chairs angrily.  They clattered loudly on to the floor.  I didn't even bother to check for their reaction.  I simply walked away from them, down the hall.

 

###

 

That night, I held Josie's hand in bed and tried unsuccessfully to go to sleep.  And I whispered to her, after half an hour, cautiously, so that Diamond couldn't hear, "I just wish that this show were over with."

 

"You really hate it that much?" she whispered back.

 

"Everything about it," I replied.  "It's just too much."

 

"You wanted to do this," she reminded me.

 

"I was wrong."

 

She waited a minute before replying.  But then she said, half amused, "You say that in the middle of every show, you know."

 

She was right about that.  But this time felt different.  I felt as if I were back in college again.  I always felt such a sense of togetherness during most plays. I didn't get that feeling with this one.

 

"I think Diamond's been drinking at rehearsals," I whispered.

 

"How do you know?"

 

"I can smell it on his breath on the way home.  He must keep it in that duffel bag he brings with him."

 

"Maybe you should steal a drink when he starts to get on your nerves."

 

"He wouldn't have anything left by the end of the night."  I turned over on to my side.  "We're too far into the production to turn back now.  So all I can do is hope it will end soon."

 

"You've only got two more weeks," she whispered encouragingly.

 

I grabbed at the sheets.  "I hope that they're uneventful.  But I just get the feeling that something else is going to happen."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

###

 

 

My father left me after I informed him that he would just have to rape and sack without me.

 

He was disappointed with me, I could tell.  With my attitude both on and off the field of battle.  I had entered into the fray, bright eyed and eager, anxious to unsheeth my sword and advance upon the Visigoths side by side with my fellow comrades, in the name of the Father, and my father, shoulder to shoulder with my old man and my younger brother, a regular family affair in the field of war.  I had ended the battle alone and confused, steeped in blood and sickened by the bitter taste of war. My father had mistaken my silence to reflect pride in the work we had done, pleasure in the effort that had been made that day to enhance the name of Charlemagne, ruler among rulers, champion of the infidels.

 

He had been disappointed to learn that I viewed the afternoon's efforts only with disgust.  His face had grown red with anger--or had that been the glow from the victory bonfires casting a sinister shadow on his face?  Amid the whoops of triumph, the screams of despair, I alone cast a dissenting vote during the victory feast--me, his own son!  Declining to rape and pillage and rub the vanquished's broken noses along the trough of defeat.

 

Shaking his head angrily he turned his back on me.  "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," he had bellowed out, then headed for his victory tent while two or five of his lackeys rooted out a maiden fit for a king to defile. 

 

And I sat, in the rubble, along with my dead comrades, their bodies too fresh to emit any odor other than that of the pervasive smell of blood.  Blood everywhere, in my mouth, underneath my fingernails, I could taste its metallic tang in my saliva.  Had I truly been anxious to leap head first into this?

 

Shortly after my father left, a group of soldiers passed me, intoxicated by their recent triumph and the liquor in their bellies.  By their sides were several women, young and half dressed, bedecked in an array of silks and cottons.  Some were there willingly, eager to turn themselves over to the other sides, plying their wares, transforming a crushing defeat into an exceedingly minor victory.  A night beneath the sheets with a soldier from Charlemagne's brigade.  Small honor indeed.

 

Others were along for the ride none too willingly.  I noticed one girl in particular, a pretty young blond with light blue eyes.  She resembled Elizabeth Montgomery from Bewitched, although slightly thicker in build. She wore a red peasant blouse and tight black slacks.  She was resisting the attempts of one of the soldiers to drunkenly paw at her.  He held her firmly by the arm, squeezing her close to him, but she bravely struggled from his grasp, slapping vainly at his arms and crying out audibly in fear.

 

He laughed at her attempts, and with his free hands grabbed her face, forcing a kiss.  She closed her eyes and let fly a mass of spittle into his face.  Enraged, he pushed her to the ground.  Her back was to me...I was unable to see her face, but I could tell by her quivering shoulders that she was petrified.  The soldier was furious.  He looked around to call his friends over, but they had long since disappeared.  Eager to end the affair, the soldier slapped her across the face savagely.  She collapsed on the ground, crying.

 

The soldier laughed, satisfied by his retaliation and the pain he had inflicted.  He stalked away into the night, hoping to catch up with his comrades and no doubt secure more willing companionship.

 

I glanced over towards the girl, hunched in a ball, crying silently to herself.  My heart sang out to her.  I yearned to hold her, to shield her from the pain she undoubtedly felt.  I tried to speak, to gain her attention, but the words would not come out.  I stood up, unsure as to whether to approach this beautiful wounded creature, who would surely view me as yet another face of the enemy, which indeed, truth to tell, I was.

 

I dared not approach her, engage her in conversation.  Instead, I walked over to her, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.  Her long, soft, blond hair brushed against my hand, as she moved her head, not up, but downward, deeper into her chest. She was crying.  I am sure that she wished to be alone.  So I gently squeezed her shoulder and whispered to her, "My apologies."  And took off towards the campgrounds, not to revel in our victory, but to grab a bottle of wine and attempt to drown my memories in a brew of forgetfulness.

 

But I stopped, before I got too far, before I had walked more than three feet from her huddled form.  For within that time she had lifted her head, opened her mouth and called out

 

"Wait."

 

I turned around.  The two of us stared at each other.  I'm unsure whether we both recognized in each other a throbbing ache that would not go away, but whatever it was, it spoke louder than the three words that had passed between us.  She rose from the ground.  I noted the red spot below her eye where the soldier had struck her.  It merely served to cover her beauty, slightly, but was totally inadequate in hiding it. 

 

She was a beautiful woman, with red, pouty lips and full, firm breasts, slightly taller than me, with a grace and a dignity that transcended the demeaning circumstances she found herself in. In another world she would have been a Queen.

 

I lifted up my arm to place the back of my hand against her cheek.  I could feel her breath against my hand, warm.  She smelled of perfume and ashes.

 

Unable to control myself, I leaned in and kissed her full lips. 

 

She backed away a bit, surprised, but then returned my kiss with one of equal if not greater intensity.  Our lips joined together as we entered into our love song with a tenderness and intensity designed to square away the phantoms of the night.

 

And we would have, made glorious love, if I had not felt a callused hand on the back of my tunic.  We broke away.  I turned around to see an angry man, dark in complexion, towering over me.  He glared at me with black, hate-filled eyes.

 

"Get your hands off my wife, you cur!"

 

He swung his fist out to strike me in the face.  I tried to back away, but--

 

"Ow!"

 

Shit.  The line was supposed to be shit. I fell on to the stage floor, just as I had been directed, but the minute I did, my hand reached to my nose.  I could see Chris and Michelle standing over me.  We were supposed to go into a blackout right after my line and they were supposed to exit the stage quickly in anticipation of the next big musical number.  But Chris knew he had actually come into contact with my nose that time.  He was supposed to just stop short and I was supposed to jerk my head back, but for some reason, there you go, we had impacted. He stood there, looking boo-boo faced.  I wondered what I looked like.

 

"Gee, I'm really sorry, Matt," he offered.

 

I stared down at the hand I had wiped my nose with.  "I'm bleeding," I said. "Shit."  There.  Now I said my line.  Will the lights go off now?  Ooh.  I do not handle blood well at all.  My nose felt as if it were struggling to transform into Cyrano de Bergerac's. 

 

"Let's take a five minute break," Diamond yelled out from the auditorium.  "Matt, are you okay?"

 

"I'll be back," I managed to say, then headed out the back door.  Poor Chris, the sensitive (but somewhat clueless) soul that he was, looked as if he were going to cry.  I understood the feeling.

 

In fact, I did just that as soon as I got into the bathroom.  I started crying right there in the boys bathroom of the Jeffrey A. Edwards Middle School.  The type of bawling that sounds really unbecoming on guys, from the gut, woe-is-me style sobbing that's for the most part best reserved for two year olds who lose their binkies.

 

It just wasn't the blow to the nez.  It was the pressure of getting the role down, trying to forget what was going on with the production, also, hell, I don't know, living with Diamond, going to work every day, not being the toast of Hollywood at the age of twenty-five.  Maybe it was being in a middle school.  I hated middle school when I was a kid.  Two years of being tormented day in and day out by the other kids. Didn't do much for me.

 

I can't go through with this, I thought to myself.  I should just quit now.  CJ would be more than happy to take over my role.  Sure, it might cause some more stress for Diamond, but CJ certainly wouldn't ruin the show.  Might actually improve it.  But I just can't do it.

 

After one or two minutes, I started to grow a bit more self-conscious, aware that I was boo-hooing in a bathroom stall, which was, irritatingly, absent toilet paper.  As if anyone who entered wouldn't know who was behind the establishment-gray metal door, or couldn't tell from the stifled sniffles what it was I was doing.  I stopped the belly-sobs, as if I were turning out a light, wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my white blosom-style shirt.  Then I slowly pushed open the door of the stall, and peered out cautiously.  Here I am, world.

 

I eyed myself in the mirror.  My eyes were slightly puffy, but I don't think anyone would be able to see that I had been crying.  The blood had stopped running from my nose and only a little bit had cached on to the end of the left nostril.

 

I ran a hand through my thinning hair and tried to get it to look tousled and sexy.  I succeeded in making it look like a tossed salad.  Then I headed out of the bathroom.  It had been about five minutes since I had been mauled.  Diamond should be ready to resume.

 

But when I entered the auditorium, everyone was just milling about, talking to each other.  CJ was on the stage, practicing the dance moves to "On The Right Track."  Some were in the process of putting on their winter jackets.  The door to the parking lot was open and I could hear the cars warming up in the parking lot.

 

"What's going on?" I asked Bill Willington, who had been busy thrusting with a sword.

 

"Diamond called it a night," he puffed, in between thrusts.  "How's your nose?"

 

"Fine, thanks," I said, unconsciously reaching to touch it.  "Where did he go?"

 

"He's in the cafeteria with a few of the cast.  I think he's having a production meeting."

 

I immediately started to reverse my steps, since the cafeteria was in the opposite direction, towards the front entrance of the school.  Once out of the auditorium, I peered down  the corridor.  Yes, Diamond was there all right, talked animatedly to          

 

 Capris, Lady Sheba Caroline Marcus and Raj Hajid.  The cafeteria was dark.  They hadn't bothered to turn on any lights.  Everyone was sitting down around a circular table except for Diamond.  I couldn't see them well, mostly their shadows.  Raj was closest to the door.  He seemed to be frowning and staring into his conductor's score.

 

Oh no.  Something was up.  I started to walk faster towards the cafeteria.  Would it be rude to just walk in uninvited?  Ah, screw it.  I was President of the group and Diamond's ride home.

 

Diamond had finished getting whatever he had been soliloquizing about by the time I  reached the cafeteria.  Capris had started to talk.  She was seated across the table from Diamond and definitely did not appear to be happy.

 

No one acknowledged me as I made my way into the room.  I tried to do so as quietly as possible.  I seated myself behind Lady Sheba, who did turn around to affectionately pat my nose.  I winked at her.

 

"You're just doing too much!" Capris was saying.  "How can you possibly expect to keep all the balls in the air? Acting, choreographing--"

 

"I have help with that," interjected Diamond, pointing to Lady Sheba.  But she tactfully looked the other way.

 

"Writing, directly." Capris ignored him, too.  "Costume design, set.  I mean, thank God you're not working nine to five on top of that, but how can you keep it all together when you’re at rehearsal?"

 

"Don't worry about me," he said defensively.

 

"I DO worry about you!" she shot back.  "I worry about you every time I come to these rehearsals.  And a lot of other times besides that.  I also worry about the people in this show, because--"

 

"Why?"

 

"WHY?" Capris opened her beautiful blue eyes wide, shocked.  Caroline Marcus laughed.  "I'm worried about this cast because you're pushing them too hard!  Quicker, faster, funnier! I mean, you're right, and that a good motto to drill into their heads--God knows you drilled it into mine, after all the shows we've done together, but--"

 

"So what's the problem?"

 

"The problem is that some of these people will NOT be quicker, faster, funnier no matter how hard you ride them.  Elsie Rosenburg weighs over two hundred and fifty pounds, Diamond!  There's no way you're going to get her to run on stage and deliver one goddamn line!  She might even hurt herself trying! And then where would the theater be?"

 

"I would never push her that hard," scoffed Diamond.  He patted his pants pocket distractedly.  "Does anyone mind if I smoke?"

 

"You don't hear them complaining," said Caroline Marcus.

 

"You don't!" agreed Capris.  Diamond flashed Caroline a look that would kill.  She put her head down.  "But you should have an idea.  How many people dropped out?"

 

"A lot of people quit Company, but we still put it together.  We had to recast that show five times, remember?  I know you all do, because most of you were in--"

 

"Company took nine months to put together," said Raj calmly.  "We only have two more weeks."

 

"We can't possibly postpone the show," said Lady Sheba.

 

"I mean, man, I'm all for the integrity of the show, you know that," continued Raj.  "Everything I try to do I try to do with the highest artistic standards, whether I'm doing Tosca or conducting a junior high chorus.  Because I agree with you, it's important to--"

 

"This isn't about you, Raj, it's about this show and these people," Capris interjected bluntly.  "And I must tell you, Diamond, sometimes I've got to question exactly why you push some people the way you do."

 

"I treat everyone equally," he protested.  "Although I admit to being demand--"

 

"Do you really?" Capris rose from the table, her voice rising.  "Do you REALLY?"

 

Diamond shrugged, trying to smile.  "I guess you're saying I don't."

 

"I've seen the way you've treated CJ," she said.  "I saw you last week, taking that Glory solo away from him."

 

"I was planning on giving it back to him on the nights that I wasn't--"

 

"Doesn't matter.  Don't think that's going to make up for the way you went about it."

 

"Caroline, you and I spoke about this," he said, almost pleading.  "You and I agreed--"

 

"We both agreed he was having trouble hitting the high notes," nodded Caroline.  "But that doesn't mean you needed to hang him out to dry in the process." I watched Caroline with fascination.  She was having trouble looking at Diamond.  Her body was hunched in, her arms resting against her chest. She had backed Diamond up one hundred percent  before tonight.  I wondered if the change had come as a result of the fight scene we had overrehearsed the night before.

 

"I didn't hang him out to dry!"

 

"See? You can't even see it!" Capris moved closer to him, practically pushing Raj out of the way.  "You've put too much on yourself and it's affecting your decisions.  I gotta tell you something, you've made some weird decisions with this show.  Like turning 'Simple Joys' into a Charo number.  Sometimes it gets a little difficult for even loyal friends like me to defend your actions!  Because not everybody knows you, Diamond! Not everyone has seen you pull a rabbit out of your hat time and time again!"

 

"But I have, haven't I?" he asked.

 

"You have," she agreed.  "Have.  In the past tense."

 

Diamond laughed angrily. "Wow.  What have I done for you lately?"

 

"No, I'm not being ungrateful, I--"  Capris paused, her blue eyes as genuine as they had been insincere with me weeks ago.  "Diamond, I will never forget the lessons I learned from you.  You taught me everything I know about acting.  But something's changed lately!  I'm not sure exactly how to describe it, but--"

 

"I'm still the same person who worked with you in Superstar--"

 

"No. You're not." She said firmly.  "First of all, you're drinking a hell of a lot more than you were then--"

 

"No, I'm not--"

 

"Diamond--"

 

"When was the last time you saw me take a drink?  I mean, not including rehearsal, of course, when--"

 

"I don't need to actually see you to know what's going on!  I know you well enough to see the signs!"

 

"Well."  Diamond shrugged.  He appeared to still be feebly attempting to make that smile, that eye contact that would draw Capris back on to his side.  But she was resisting him at every turn.  "You and I both know full well I've always had a drink or two before performances, to loosen up my throat.  Caroline, we've often discussed the vocal benefits of a little Jack Daniels before you--"

 

"This is DIFFERENT than that," hissed Capris, impassioned but respectful enough not to make a full-blown declaration that Ms. Reardon had a drinking problem for all those left in the auditorium to here.  "And you're a mean drunk when you're directing, Diamond!  I wouldn't make it my business if it didn't affect the show, except for the fact that you're also my friend and I care about you!  But it does affect the show!  It affects all the hard work you've put into it!  It affects all the work WE'VE put into it!  And I for one am not going to let it sit back and happen!"

 

"Capris," chastised Diamond, waving his finger at her.  "You're doing a scene!"

 

"The hell I am!"  she snapped back.  She threw her arms out to the assembled jury.  "Ask them if you need a second opinion! Or a third or a fourth! They can see it as well as I do!"

 

Diamond stood there, silent for a moment.  He looked around the table.  Nobody met his gaze, save for Lady Sheba, whose face was like the Sphinx.  Raj continued to bury himself into his conductors score.  Caroline played with her nails.  I stared at the back of Lady Sheba's head.

 

"So you all agree with Capris?"  asked Diamond, rather sullen.  "What am I saying? Of course you do, or you wouldn't all be here, right? Right."  Diamond nodded his head.  "Three of my dearest friends in the world.  Jesus!  Perhaps I should be directing a production of Julius Caesar rather than Pippin."

 

"Nobody in this room intends to stab you in the back," disagreed Raj.

 

"I resent the analogy," bristled Capris.

 

"Everyone here, except Matt," continued Diamond, casting his gaze my way.  "You simply walked into this acerbic little coffee clutch.  So what do think?  Do I need to dry out before I bring this ship down?"

 

There was silence in the room.  I stood there, shell shocked for a moment.  Jesus, I had just gone to the bathroom to powder my nose and next thing I know I'm...agh, what to say.  Everyone had turned to look at me, unsure exactly where I stood.  Well...

 

"So now you're the skipper of the Exxon Valdez?" I joked, weakly.  I couldn't help it.  What in the Hell was I supposed to say?  Had his drinking been that bad?  Was I so oblivious with my role that I wasn't watching anything else that had been going on?  And what the hell was I supposed to say, again, anyway?  "Well, um--"

 

"Jesus!" shouted Capris.  "You want to go around the cast and take a poll?  Maybe then you'd get an answer you'd like?  At least, I hope it's your drinking.  Maybe you've completely lost it, I don't know!  All I do know is, you haven't been the same since Domino--"

 

"Capris, for Chrissakes--"

 

"Since he left you, and if you can't--"

 

"I need a cigarette. Anyone mind if I--"

 

"And if you can't figure out the reasons that happened, you don't have a clue on this one, either!"

 

"Capris--"

 

"Ah, screw it!" Capris looked as if she were near tears.  "Look, I just can't be in this play.  Not this way.  I'm not going to do this to myself any more!"

 

"Capris--?"

 

"I quit!" she screamed out, staring him straight down.  I cast a glance into the hall.  It looked like CJ was listening in from the auditorium.  He looked down at his book when he caught my gaze.  "Find someone else to be your conscience!"

 

"Capris," pleaded Diamond for the third time.

 

She didn't say another word.  We all sat there and listened as her high heels clattered against the concrete floor, then as the front door screeched open, then shut.  We didn't dare watch her exit.  Except Lady Sheba, who had been fascinated with the entire exchange.

 

Diamond kind of stood there, swaying, looking off in Capris' direction.

 

Finally Lady Sheba broke the silence.  "So where do we go from here?" she asked calmly, her husky voice soft, a distinct contrast to the harsh words that had been exchanged moments before.

 

Her words jarred Diamond back into our place and time.  "Do any of you want to leave with her?" He sounded more desperate than angry.

 

No one said a word.

 

This time Caroline broke the silence.  "But if you want to go out and maybe talk somewhere in private, Diamond--"

 

"No."  Diamond had his hands in his back pockets.  He was swaying slowly back and forth.  "Okay. I've got some things to think about, including who the Hell to cast in her part.  We can take this up Monday.  Um--"

 

We waited to hear the rest of what he had to say.  But suddenly, he simply took his hands out of his pockets and started to head out. 

 

Raj was the first to speak after he left.

 

"I kind of like the Calypso number now," he said mournfully.  "It has a happy bounce."

 

Caroline looked as if she were about to strangle him.

 

###

 

When I exited the building, I found that Diamond was waiting by my car, smoking a cigarette, standing apart from the remaining cast.

 

Needless to say, it was another quiet ride home.  But this time around, I didn't even bother to make small talk.  I knew it wouldn't have been appreciated.

 

Diamond headed straight for my old bedroom when we arrived at the homestead.  He barely said two words to Josie, who was sitting at the kitchen table drinking hot chocolate with Anna when we arrived.  She looked at me, confused.  I drew a finger to my throat to indicate we could talk about it later. 

 

After we put Anna to bed, I whispered to Josie in our bedroom the details of the evening, as if we were two thieves admiring treasures in the night.

 

"You sure Diamond's not right and she's just being dramatic?" she whispered to me.

 

"I don't know.  I've never seen her like that.  She usually says things behind people's back, not to their face."

 

"She might be back Monday, you know.  She might have done this just to get Diamond scared."

 

"Maybe."

 

"I wonder who he'll get to take her part if she doesn't return?"

 

I smiled and tickled her tummy.  "Why? You want the part?"

 

"Oh, please," she groaned.  "He'd have to be pretty desperate to cast me, with my voice."

 

I continued tickling.  "I'd listen to you."

 

Josie swatted my hand away.  "Is his drinking that bad?"

 

I sat up in bed.  "Well, that's the thing.  I guess I've known that he drinks at rehearsals.  Like when I smell it on his breath in the car.  But I haven't noticed him drinking that much here, have you?"

 

Josie frowned.  "I wouldn't let him drink around Anna.  No, he doesn't.  Only once or twice, late at night, that I've noticed."

 

"It's almost as if he has to get himself through the rehearsals, drinking..."

 

"But why?"

 

"Well..."  Ah, I don't know.  I reached over to pick up a comic book from the floor.  Josie whacked me in the ass.

 

I didn't sleep well that night.  It was hard to sleep, and when I finally did, my dreams were restless, fitful.  I dreamt about putting out a fire and running out of water halfway through.  Then I dreamt about taking a dump in the bathroom and realizing halfway through I was actually on stage.  I received quite a round of applause.

 

Around one o'clock at night, I grew fed up with the tossing and turning and headed for the kitchen for a drink of lemonade.  Which isn't exactly the most soothing of bedtime drinks, but I was having one of those cravings and just couldn't be denied.

 

I gulped down the lemonade, then filled the cup again and gulped down another.  I placed the plastic cup on the counter and put the container away.  I listened to the refrigerator door softly close.

 

The house was dead quiet.  I could hear the sounds of traffic swooshing around outside and the wind blowing softly through the trees.  I could hear Anna breathing in her bedroom, which was right by the fridge.

 

I headed back for my room.  The floorboards creaked under my feet.  My stocking feet padded across the rug.

 

I was about to enter my bedroom when I stopped suddenly, just outside the door.  I thought I had seen some movement in the living room.  I looked in that direction, into the darkened room.  I caught another movement again, to my left. 

 

I walked over, into the room we called the "Chinese Garden Room."  The room was constructed in the shape of an octagon, with open picture windows traversing one whole side.  We had filled the room with wicker furniture and Japanese artwork, and lots of ivy criss-crossing the purple curtains that hung from the windows.  In the morning, it was a lovely sight to take in, with the sun streaming through, filling up the room like a horn of plenty. 

 

This evening, a full moon partially lit the room, casting eerie shadows upon books and barstools, painting everything in shades of blue and white.  Outside the windows, I could observe the darkened outlines of apartment buildings and parked cars, and puddles from melted snow that glistened in the roadway.

 

And I heard a low cough to my right.

 

I turned to my right and saw him standing in the shadows, sitting on the edge of a windowsill, staring out into the lonely night.  He had his back to me, seemingly oblivious to my presence,. although I was certain he knew full well I was looking in.

 

He was crying, I knew it.  My heart went out to him.  I could see his back kind of quiver, shivering slightly, barely perceptibly.  He was trying hard not to make a sound.  I thought guiltily of my belly sobs earlier that evening over a stupid bloody nose, a demeaning contrast to his brave, quiet tears. 

 

I wanted to walk over and pat him on the back, to tell him that it was okay, that it was all going to turn out for the best.

 

I thought about our conversation in my car the night before, about our failed dreams, about the things we still had left to prove to the world.  And I suddenly felt ashamed.  Ashamed that I hadn't the strength of conviction to stand up on his behalf in the cafeteria, to lift him up while those around him were pushing him down.  As I had longed to be lifted up at that faculty meeting years ago.  Regardless of whether the points had been valid or not, that somehow didn't matter.  Maybe the act of lifting would have helped to push aside the cobwebs, somehow cast away those shadows.

 

So I stood there.  And I didn't move from the doorway.  And all I asked him, after all those thoughts that went on in my head, was simply, "Diamond, are you okay?"

 

He cleared his throat.  "I'm fine," he whispered, his voice raspy.

 

"You sure?"

 

"Yes. I'm sure."

 

Short of saying what was actually on my mind, I could thinking of nothing else.

 

"I'll see you in the morning, then."

 

"Goodnight, Matt," he whispered.  I think I saw him shudder again before I turned to go back into my room.

 

Goodnight, Diamond.

 

###

 

To be honest, the rest of the weekend was a bit of a blur.  Josie and I were caught up in family events and Diamond spent most of the time either holed up on his bedroom or in Providence.  I recall he did spend a great deal of time pouring over his reworked script.  Apparently he was re-working it once again.

 

I'm not completely certainly that he didn't attempt to call Capris.  He may have done it Friday during the day, while Josie and I were at work.  But I do know he was on the phone a few times that week-end, discussing replacements, and he did bounce a few names off of the two of us for comments.

 

I tried to ask, nonchalantly, of course, whether he had ever considered calling Capris on the phone to try and work things out.  But he simply frowned and said, "That's not going to happen."

 

All in all, it was a nervous trio of days.  Diamond was in retreat and keeping his plans under wraps, which really wasn't anything new, but given all that had transpired, it sure as hell was frustrating.  For some reason, I have the suspicion that he confided in Josie, but if he did, he swore her to secrecy and she remained true to her vow.  Of course, that's simply conjecture on my part.  I'll have to make a mental note to quiz her on it one of these days.  That is, if she remembers.

 

The only thing Diamond offered in the way of a prelude occurred on the way to rehearsal Monday evening.  At that time, he turned right to me. even though he could only catch my profile, my eyes being intent on the road and all.  He spoke in a patient, gentle tone, as if I were a small child. 

 

"Now, you know I'm going to be talking to the cast tonight about some of what happened," he said.

 

"I know," I said.  I had been trying to go over lines in my head.

 

"There are going to be some changes," he warned.

 

"I figured there would be."

 

"But I need you to know, how much I've enjoyed working with you on this show," he said.  "You worked hard, Matt.  I can't tell you how much you've grown as an actor."

 

I thanked Diamond, but felt slightly uneasy about the tenor of the conversation.  Rehearsals weren't even over and he was already talking about the show in the past tense?

 

At seven o'clock sharp, he closed the doors to the theater and instructed all of us to sit down in the auditorium.  Mostly everyone was aware of some of what had gone down Thursday night.  If they hadn't heard of it over the weekend, Capris' absence and the whispered conversations that took place before the start of rehearsal, coupled with Diamond's tense figure on stage, pacing about as if he were about to explode, told the casual observer that something was up.

 

Jack St. Pierre, CJ and Leo all huddled together in the front row.  Surely one of them had spoken to Capris.  Diamond was careful to keep his distance from them.  So was I.  I am to this day still convinced that they were the root of all evil in the show. 

   

For my part, I sat next to Lady Sheba, Raj and Caroline on the opposite side of the theater.  I felt as if we were survivors of an intense land battle, or something.

 

Seven o'clock came and the Diamond show began precisely on schedule.  Diamond took center stage, wired, clearly anxious.  All stopping ceased instantly.

 

"As some of  you may be aware, Capris unfortunately was forced to vacate the role of Berthe," Diamond began, as if he were a law partner bemoaning the loss of an associate.  "Due to, um, personal reasons.  But I am pleased to announce that we do have a replacement! Someone I have been anxious to work with for many years now.  I'd love you all to give a warm welcome to a dear personal friend, Brenda Love!"

 

Brenda stood up.  The applause was polite but sincere.  Brenda was a tall, older woman, possessing flaming red hair.  She was known in the Community, having appeared in several area musicals.  She had also been the feature of several newspaper articles preaching the virtues of aging.  She was also, from personal experience, somewhat high strung. 

 

He waited for Brenda to be seated.  "While we're talking about changes, I thought this would also be a good time to make a few other announcements. First off, I've made a few cuts to the script, so I want you all to get out your pencils, so we can go over them line by line.  By my calculations, these cuts should shave off twenty minutes from the show, which unfortunately is currently running somewhat long.  Remember what I've been telling you! Quicker faster funnier! We don't want people to think for a moment during this show or we're DOOMED!"

 

He cleared his throat, wringing his hands.  He cast a glance in my direction.  My stomach started to sink.  Clearly, this was the moment.  "There's also one more thing."  He started to pace a bit. He sounded as though he were reading off a cue card.  "I have been asked by a theater based in Providence to move ahead our performance dates on a show I had committed to many months in advance.  Due to the conflicts this causes my schedule, I am afraid that I will only be able to perform the role of the Emcee during the preview weekend.  I'll perform Friday and Sunday, and CJ will perform Saturday, just to keep him fresh. I discussed this with CJ over the week-end and he graciously consented to take on my additional performances."

 

I felt Lady Sheba place a sympathetic hand on my arm.  I glanced over at her in shock and surprise.  She appeared calm, as if the announcement had come as no surprise.  Had she been told about it as well?  My cheeks felt red.

 

"Now, let's move on to those changes.  I apologize for giving them to you at this late date, but I think you'll find that they're really quite--"

 

I mechanically jotted down the changes that Diamond rattled off, but I was dead to the worlds for the rest of the evening.  Now I felt as if I were in a production of Julius Caesar.  Looking forward to working on stage with Diamond again had been one of the major attractions to doing the show.  Performing with CJ was hardly the same thing.  Hardly the same thing at all.

 

To me, the soul of the show just kept diminishing, like plastic wrap in a microwave.

 

###

 

I mean, I guess I understood that the decision Diamond had made had not been an easy one, but that night during rehearsal and on the way home in the car, I wasn't particularly feeling a heck of a lot of sympathy for the agony he may have gone through.  In fact, it was more appropriate to say I was more than a little bit pissed off at him.

 

Unfortunately, with me, I don't hide my anger well.  It's not one of my nicer characteristics.  Oh, I can hide my feelings of affection well enough.  But my anger feelings scream out whether I wish them to or not.

 

Part of this has to do with my eyebrows.  They're dark and somewhat thick, and can move up and down quite a distance, should I wish. Add that to my dark eyes, I'm afraid to say I don't just glower, I growl.  My children suffer from this affliction, as well.

 

So I'm quite certain that Diamond knew I was angry.  In fact, I'm sure he was expecting that to be my reaction.

 

He was very good, I have to admit.  In fact, he almost seemed like the Diamond of old, before this shadow had been cast upon him.  He talked and he told stories, and he went on and on regarding his upcoming show.  He barely seemed to notice that my side of the conversation equated to less than nothing.  Just like old times.

 

The play was a production of All The President's Men, done Kabuki style.  Diamond was slated to play Ehrlichman and he was also overseeing the set design.  He went on and on about the brilliant concept, and certain key scenes, and how at this very moment there's a dramatic pause and then Pat Nixon walks in white face and wearing a kimono, holding in her hands a plate full of cottage cheese. 

 

"I tell you, this musical has been fun, but I can't wait to sink my artistic teeth into this show in Newport," he said.

 

Huh? "I thought you said the play was in Providence," I asked, puzzled.

 

"No, this play's in Newport," Diamond replied, fiddling around with the radio station.  "Hey! I like this song!"

 

"Funny," I said, "I could have sworn you said--"

 

"You must not have been paying attention," he replied.

 

###

 

"Five more minutes 'til curtain."

 

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, at the creation that Diamond had wrought, that I had whole-heartedly allowed myself to be transformed into.  I observed the moussed-up hair that added volume to my thinning scalp, the gold bronzer that added color to my winter pallor and also hid my acne scars. I looked over the pouffed up shirt that his the thin arms and the start of a belly.  And the finishing touch, the coup de grace, the piece de resistance! The leopard scarves around the neck and waist, as if to broadcast to the world that I had been completely Diamondized and now bore his official stamp of approval.

 

I thought back to my trip to Diamond's apartment years ago, when he had first promised me he would direct this show.  At the same time, he had asked me to do a few push ups every day to improve my body, which I had agreed to do.  At least he had fulfilled his promise.

 

Well, I would never be perfect.  Diamond had worked his hardest to cover my cracks, and to be fair, so had I, at least on the acting and singing end.  The only way to repay that gift was to proceed forward.  Even if I doubted that I was up to the task.

 

So it was opening night.  I had checked with the house manager and had been told that we were half full, which may not sound that impressive, but given the size of the auditorium and the numbers we had posted just a few years ago, it wasn't bad at all.  Our Production Manager had launched an aggressive Pre-show campaign that he had been criticized for, but which had worked well.

 

We used the school's music room as our make up/costume/waiting area, a fact that the school's music teacher detested.  We would always find little hand-written notes scribbled out after each rehearsal or performance.  Tonight had been no exception.  In fact, it had been two pages long and taped to the entrance.

 

I was just finishing last-minute touch-ups, sitting next to Caroline Marcus.  Ten minutes ago we had gone off into the corridor to be alone.  Diamond had made us promise every night to go off by our5selves and engage in an exercise he had learned at his classes in Providence.  we were instructed to sit down, Indian style, face-to-face and holding hands.  We were to talk through our scenes together, staring into each other's eyes.  He felt it would "do wonders for our performance!"  We had been executing it religiously for the past week. 

 

"Are you ready for this?" I asked her.

 

"I'm ready for that," she said, pointing out towards the stage.  "But I'm not ready for this."  She pulled at a strand of the curly brown wig she was holding in her hand.  Diamond had brought it with him from Tulsa and insisted that Caroline wear it during the show.  He had fussed over it before and after each rehearsal, treating it as if it were a houseplant, misting and pruning meticulously.  He had provided her with laborious instructions on what she needed to do after he left.  Thank God he hadn't burdened me with that.

 

"You'd better take good care of the beast," I teased her, using our pet name for the wig.

 

"Oh, don't worry, I will." She pouffed at the curls. "Knowing Diamond, he'll sneak into a performance one night and spot a hair out of place.  Won't I be in for it then!"

 

We laughed.  I looked around the room to figure out where he was.  I spotted him in a darkened corridor that connected the music room to the storage room.  He was lying down on the floor, his eyes closed.  I recognized the position.  He was getting into character.

 

"You know, as much as he has been a pain in the ass, I'm going to miss him when he's gone," I said to Caroline.

 

"He's not going away forever," she replied distractedly.  "He'll probably surprise us by dropping in once or twice."

 

"No he won't."  I could feel it in my gut.  If he was performing in Providence, it was possible he could get here, if it was Newport it was impossible.  If it was all a...well, in any event, it wasn't going to happen.

 

I rose from my seat and headed in Diamond's direction.  I thought about the last two weeks of rehearsal.  Diamond had been far less demanding.  He had even complimented CJ and Lewis once or twice, although he had never developed the stomach to compliment Jack St. Pierre.  And I had not smelt one drop of liquor on him.  Not even after rehearsals.  I expected that would change after this evening.

 

Even so, he had kept his distance with the cast.  It was as if, if you weren't going to tolerate Diamond's worst characteristics, you also weren't going to benefit from his best.  Oh, he still called out "Quicker, Faster, Funnier," and had absolutely laid into Josie over a curtain cue she had confused at the end of one rehearsal, but for the most part, the lights were out in that part of the house.  Diamond had taken the play as far as he was going to and had spent the time focusing on himself.

 

Diamond had taken the costuming of the Leading Player in a different direction than the traditional Ben Vereen-inspired look common to the production.  Instead, he wore a gray and black striped turtleneck sweater, with black gloves on his hands, the fingertips of which had been removed.  He wore tight black chinos and atop his head, a yellow Dick Tracy-style hit.

 

Oh, and on his feet he wore dance shoes.  I kicked at them lightly in order to wake him out of his trance.  I hated to wake him up, but we only had a few moments before curtain, anyways.

 

"I just wanted to wish you luck tonight," I said.

 

"Lend me a hand," he commanded, stretching out his long, bony arm.  I helped to lift him off the ground.  As soon as he was up, he enveloped me in a huge hug.  I patted his back, as if I were burping a baby.  "Now, you just be yourself out there. You're going to be just great.  I can promise you that."

 

"Thanks."  I could feel the tears start to well up.  Oh, parting was going to be lovely Sunday afternoon, I could just tell. 

 

Perhaps Diamond could sense I was starting to get sentimental, because he broke away quickly and changed the topic.  "Capris called today," he said, at the same time scanning the room in order to take a mental inventory of who was there and who wasn't.

 

"Oh, really?"

 

"She says she'll be in the audience tonight." Diamond rolled his eyes.  "She told me it was the least that she could do."

 

"You two patch things up?"

 

"Hell, no!" he roared.  "I intend on being angry at her until at least the next time I need her for a show."  He winked at me.  "I'm thinking of doing Fiddler on the Roof in Newport next year.  You want to lend a hand?"

 

I looked doubtful, but was inwardly encouraged by this sudden talk of the future.  "Newport's a long ways away, Diamond.  And being in charge of this group, well..."

 

"So take some time off," he said encouragingly, like the snake offering the apple to Eve.  "Better yet, I'll do it in the summer.  You'll be shut down for the season by then."

 

"We'll see."  I wasn't sure I was up to traveling like that and holding down a full time job at the same time.  And making time for Josie and Anna...

 

CJ approached before we could discuss anything further.  Diamond tactfully turned to adjust his gloves.

 

"Hey, Matt, can I ask you something?" He sounded as friendly as can be.  My spider sense immediately went up. 

 

"What's that, CJ?"

 

"I remember you said at the last rehearsal that you might be getting a sore throat," he said, looking very concerned.  "I know what a number that can do on your voice.  If you want, I'd be happy to help you out and handle the Glory solo tonight."

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I could detect Diamond stifling a grin, which made me struggle even harder to keep an eye on CJ's overly earnest looking face.  This was the best acting I had ever seen out of him.  "Gee, C.J., I can't tell you how touched I am that you made this offer to me."  I tried to use my best Diamond-inspired tones.  "Would you really take that on as a favor to me?"

 

"Yesss," cooed CJ.

 

"Hmm," I said, sounding as if I were deliberating.  "Thanks for the offer, but I've been taking real good care of my throat these past few days--"

 

"I haven't allowed him to say a WORD at home, and I've given him plenty of tea with lemon," Diamond piped in.  I glanced at him and tried not to laugh.

 

"Yeah, I think I'll be able to make it," I continued.  "Besides, my folks are in the audience, wanna do good for them, you know?"

 

CJ turned and walked away without saying another word.  I winked at Diamond.  He lifted up his head and gave me the thumbs up sign, a broad smile on his face.

 

"Thanks Diamond," I whispered.

 

"Two minutes to curtain," the Stage Manager called out.

 

Thanks for everything.

 

###

 

That evening we almost reached it again, that space we had inhabited during Jesus Christ Superstar.  It almost occurred at the end of the play, when Pippin is forced to choose between the Leading Player's goblet of hemlock and the woman he has come to love.  As the chorus is exhorting me to think about my life, and the Leading Player is shouting in my ear, and I'm torn between their glitter and noise and the woman with the small child, both standing apart from everyone else downstage left.  It was hard not to think about the significance of the scene in relation to my own life, about the parallels being acted out.  And it almost started to happen, as Pippin turns away from the lights and magic and chooses salvation instead, and the rest of the world collapses around him.

 

But something prevented me from entering that zone completely.  Something held me back.  The same thing happened during the Sunday matinee performance, the last show that Diamond acted in, and, incidentally, attended.  As for the shows with CJ, forget it.  We didn't even come close.  CJ made the Leading Player angry and strident at the end, condescending and contemptuous of Pippin.  There was absolutely no temptation whatsoever. The choice was easy; therefore, the play was meaningless.

 

I am convinced that had Diamond seen through the next few weeks and performed each evening that the zone eventually would have been entered.  I just know it.  But alas, it was not to be.  To this day, I consider this to be one of the biggest disappointments of my life.

 

###

 

It was a beautiful Sunday evening on the night that Diamond Dawg said his good-byes.  Yes indeed, I remember it as if it were yesterday.  Diamond resided with us until the beginning of April, and it was just beginning to warm up upon his departure.  He had lasted out the winter chill with us.

 

My lady had offered to drive Diamond to Newport, also, to take Anna with her on the trip, a proposal that Anna had excitedly agreed to.  Diamond informed us that he would be moving in with an actress friend who had just separated from her husband, so she had some extra space in her place, just for Diamond.  He described the condo as "beautiful, a converted stable that'll simply take your breath away when you see it!"  Diamond mapped out for us a visit he insisted we pay on him in a month or so.

 

I'm not sure why, but I found it odd that Josie had volunteered to drive Diamond to Newport, especially with Anna in tow, more so since Monday was the start of a new school week.  She said she needed the company and that I deserved a break after performing all weekend. She neglected to mention that she had worked hard herself on all three performances, backstage.

 

I wondered if this was something she had worked out with Diamond beforehand.

 

In any event, I was grateful for the offer, and not just because I was dog (no pun intended) tired from the weekend, although God knows that was true, too.  But for some ridiculous reason, from the moment that the four of us arrived home from the performance, once Diamond started to make his final rounds and began loading up the car, I found myself possessed of an overpowering sadness.  Like I said, it was ridiculous, starting long before the actual good-byes were made.  I struggled not to let it show to anyone, even Josie.  It was embarrassing.  There was no way I was going to play the weeping rose in front of them.

 

At one point, it got so bad that after delivering a load of luggage into the Mustang, I rushed back upstairs, ran into our bedroom and locked the door behind me.  And then I just fell to the bed and started sobbing, no word of a lie, using one of our pillows to muffle the noise.

 

It was as if I had entered the zone, at last, but only after the performance had ended.  Far too late to put it to any constructive use.  I just couldn't stop crying, trying to fill up the black void in my soul with the tears that stained Josie's pillowcase.

 

I'm afraid I wasn't much help to them after that.  I just felt as if it were the end of a very important chapter in my life, as if things would never be the same.  It was crazy.  I mean, this guy had come into my apartment six weeks ago and totally turned our lives upside down, transforming every day into an endless stream of challenges, and here I was, crying like a baby because our life could now return to normal! I should have been throwing a party instead!

 

But that's the way it was.  Diamond had struck a nerve, and for God knows what reason, I was going to deeply miss having that nerve pinched no more.  To this day I'm not sure I can adequately explain the reasons why.

 

Finally, there was a knock outside the door.  It was Josie.

 

"Matt, you in there?" she asked, although of course she knew perfectly well I was.

 

I wiped at my eyes.  "I'm here," I said.  "I'm just, uh, changing my clothes."

 

"Diamond's about to leave," she said.  "I just thought you'd want to say good-bye."

 

I looked around the room and located a stale T-shirt I had thrown into a corner.  Quickly, I lifted off the shirt I was wearing, using it to dab at my eyes a few more times, then threw on the other shirt.  I checked myself out in the mirror.  Ah, shit, it was obvious I had been crying.  Well.  Perhaps nobody would notice.

 

I braced myself and opened the door.  Diamond stood there, next to Josie.  Anna was downstairs, playing with the first floor kids.  I glanced at Josie.  She looked as if she were about to lose it, too.

 

"Hey," I said, pleasantly.  "Looks as if I got out of doing the rest of the luggage."

 

"We can unload and start again if you like," Diamond joked feebly.

 

I nodded.  "I won't miss it that much."

 

"I didn't think you would."

 

"Well."  There was an awkward silence.  We all stared in different directions, at the stove, a chair, the fridge.  "Hey, you take care of yourself in Newport."

 

"I will," Diamond promised.

 

"Now, we'll be visiting you there in a little while, right? Once you get settled in? I want to check out those stables you've been talking about."

 

"It's a date."

 

"And I want you to come back here, too," I said, although I started to feel my heart in my throat and had trouble getting the last few words out.  "I'm going to miss those Mexican meals you and Josie put together.  My belly's not going to forgive you for that one!"

 

"I'll be back soon," he promised.

 

"Good," said Josie.

 

"You keep that bedroom empty for me.  Because I'll still need it," he continued.  "I've got a few hundred of your comic books to finish!"

 

I laughed.  "It'll be there waiting for you. Swear to God.  Well..." I didn't know what else to say.  I nervously extended my hand.  "It's been nice--"

 

But I felt like crying again so I cut it off right there.  Diamond shook my hand, then drew forward and gave me a brief, awkward hug.  We pulled away quickly, unwilling to wade too deeply in the maudlin.  I turned to Josie and gave her an affectionate hug, then kiss, on the lips.

 

"You be careful driving tonight," I ordered.

 

"I will."

 

"Please don't fall asleep or anything," I warned, sounding like her mother.  "You've got precious cargo in there."  I was thinking of Anna.

 

"I know."

 

And that was it.  We said our good-byes and Josie walked out with Diamond Dawg.  I walked into the bathroom to look out the window and watch them load into the car and drive away.  Then I went back into the bedroom to, no word of a lie, cry some more.  And then I fell asleep at six-thirty in the evening.  I was totally exhausted.  I didn't even bother to eat dinner.

 

###

 

As I have mentioned before, I'm not completely certain why Diamond's visit was so significant to me.  I know that both Josie and I talk about that period every now and then, often times referring to it as if we had survived a war or something.  But the truth of the matter is, we both have fond memories of that period, in spite of, or perhaps because of, those little quirks that Diamond possessed that used to drive us crazy.  I tend to believe the latter.  Certainly those are the things that have stuck with the passage of time.

 

I suppose I recognized in Diamond a kindred soul, someone who was driven to express himself artistically but was also hampered by terrible demons that almost succeeded in destroying everything he worked so hard to achieve.  We both possessed our share of failures, as well as been told that our artistic dreams were hampered by our God-given talents, that our reach, in essence, exceeded our grasp.  (More??)

 

But there's another piece to it, too.  I think that a part of me also yearns to be more like Diamond, with his nomadic ways and ability to live hand to mouth, somehow managing to survive while devoting himself entirely to his craft. This is an ability I never shared with him.  I never had enough faith in my abilities to cast myself out into the wilderness like that, although I've often yearned to.  Instead, I've played it safe, taking a steady job, developing ties that have bound and only plying my craft after hours.

 

I once had a professor in college who said that the best thing I could have done with my life was to move to California and work in a shoe factory.  She assured me that would teach me all I needed to know about life.  Perhaps she was right.  Certainly Diamond has a lot more experiences to draw upon, a lot more tales to tell, then I probably ever will.  But casting caution to the wind, for me, is probably never going to occur. So...after hours I toil.  I still have things to show for my life, things I wouldn't trade for the world.

 

I was also envious of Diamond's place in the community, of the way that so many people I considered artistic and talented and intelligent looked up to him, sought out his advice, looked for his participation, despite his flaws.  Despite being President of an area theater, I never really felt an intimate connection with those kind of people.  To be truthful, they frightened me.  I have always been scared they would discover I was a fake, that I was just pretending at being an artist, that my level of conversation was simply not on the same plane as theirs.

 

For some reason that I'll never understand, Diamond saw beyond my fears, and reached down and lifted me up to heights that I had only wished to see.  He took my dreams seriously, when very few others would, and provided me with enough encouragement and advise to see me through four years of being President of the theater group.  Often times, when I was directing a show, for example, blocking a scene, I would wonder what Diamond would do if placed in the situation I was in.  Invariably, I would go with what I thought he would do.  I often found myself falling back on the training I received from him.  Quite honestly, it has served me just as well, if not, in some cases, better than any artistic education I received in college.

 

I'll always be grateful for Diamond's friendship and advice.  I'm also grateful that instead of filling me up with words, he would roll up his sleeves and show me first hand what he was talking about.  There are a lot of people in this world who seem to believe that a person can sit back in their patent leather chairs and tear a person down in the name of instruction.  That was never Diamond's way.  He was never content to paint pretty pictures regarding what should be, although he certainly possessed the gift of gab to do exactly that.  But once Diamond started painting with words, he had to help construct the physical canvas as well,  and plod and plead and show by example until you had a better understanding of what separated a mess of colors from a masterpiece. Not that you could be guaranteed ever to paint a masterpiece.  But you certainly knew what you were after.

 

Although we did keep in touch for a while after Pippin, as the years went on, we began to see less and less of old Diamond.  In fact, after Josie and I finally said our "I do's," I think I saw him on a handful of occasions.  I am sorry to report that the last two face-to-face encounters were less than amicable, involving a play that Diamond had committed to directed that was on the verge of falling apart due to his internal demons.  Thankfully, I had by that time learned enough from him to keep the play together, although the strain of directing that show, plus another show I had already committed to at the same time, quickly burned me out, and I retired as President of the Eldredge Community Theater several months later. ((Might wish to tighten--mention the grandfather excuse, how he promised to pout together a poster and never came through?? $100??))  Oh, and also because Josie was pregnant, and I obviously had other, more important, things to devote my evenings to.  Like Josie, and Anna, and eventually two other little bambinos. 

 

I did see Diamond on stage one time after that, in a production of Godspell in Newport.  He appeared ill at ease in the role, although, as always, he tried to make what he had a little different.  He turned We Beseech Thee into a country and western number. Josie and I opted not to stick around and say hello after the performance.

 

From what I hear tell, Diamond is now in AA, and has acknowledged his problems, although he still has occasional setbacks from time to time. He continues to perform in Newport.  Perhaps you could check him out there sometime, at the Newport Playhouse.

 

I wish him only the best of luck. I can only hope he knows how much I cared about him.  But I suspect he probably doesn't.  I'm not good at showing that side of myself to many people.  Well, Diamond, wherever you are, there it is.  Down in black and white, for all to see.  I'm sorry I kept the warts on.  But, funny me, I kind of think you'd understand that part, too.

 

Diamond, you took me on a journey.  Hell, you took everyone in that play on a journey, and Josie, too.  Journeymen are valuable people to know. 

 

Thank you for coming to call.

 

I can't tell you how meaningful your journey here was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

************************************************************

Completed: January 10, 1999

Finally typed after much procrastination: June 20, 1999

Whew!!!