“No,” Fletch said. “Not at all.”
“How refreshing of you to say that. Finally, in California, I’ve heard a new line: No, I can’t act. If you’re seriously applying for the male lead in
Fletch turned to Moxie and asked, in a reasonable tone, “Moxie, darling, what are you doing?”
“Tell him what a great actor you are, Fletch.”
“I can’t act at all.”
“Nonsense,” said Moxie, “you’ve been acting all your life.”
“Never.”
“You need the job, Fletch.”
“Not a job acting.”
“It would be fun,” Moxie said. “You and me.”
“It would be horrible.”
“You don’t have anything else to do.”
“In fact, I do have something else to do.”
“What? Interview more dead people?”
“Moxie?”
“Anyway,” the Director said, “you should meet Sam, Moxie. Your present male lead. Tell me what you think of him. Oh, Sam!” the Director called.
Across the stage a dark-haired, heavy-browed young man stood up from a pile of lumber and started to walk over.
“Ape,” the Director said quietly. “He walks like an orangutan with gonorrhea. Heavy thighs. Today’s audiences do not like heavy thighs. Oh, Sam, meet Moxie Mooney.”
“Hullo,” Sam said.
“Hullo,” said Moxie.
“Why don’t you two children greet each other with a kiss? You’ll be working together.”
Both Moxie and Sam put their faces forward to be kissed, neither to kiss. After indecisive, awkward maneuvers, the kiss was perfunctory.
“Theater history is made,” said the Director sardonically.
“It will be nice working with you, I’m sure,” Moxie said.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I saw your dad play
Moxie’s eyes became slits.
“Instant electricity,” the Director said. “Serendipity. I must rush home and get it all down in my journal, for posterity.”
“See you,” Sam said.
“Ten a.m.,” said the Director.
Sam ambled off-stage through the scenery.
The Director sighed. “What do you think?” he asked Moxie.
“I don’t think,” Moxie said. “I act.”
“At least you have the sense to realize it, dear. I wish other actors wouldn’t think they could think. Listen,” the Director said to Fletch. “Hang loose a few days. I don’t think Sam is going to work out. I hate to fire someone for thick thighs—”
“What?” Fletch said. “No.”
“Okay,” Moxie said. “He will.”
“I can see you two as much more of a team. I mean, you’d be beautiful together, if one of you would take a shower. Really exciting to watch.”
“I’m sorry to come to your party with a dirty face,” Fletch said.
“Dirt can have its charms,” the Director said. “Especially when used to grow tulips.”
“May we go now, Moxie?”
“We just got here. I haven’t met the crew.”
“I need a shower.”
“He does need a shower, Moxie. You can meet the rest of the cast in the morning. Do try to be here at ten A.M. Excuses will not be tolerated.” The Director pointed at Fletch. “Take this boy home and wash him!”
21
“I’ V E D O N E Y O U a favor,” Moxie said a few times during the evening.
In bed, after they’d showered, after they’d eaten peanut butter sandwiches, after Fletch had explained to Moxie again he had no intention of trying to be an actor and she had explained to him, again, patiently, that, yes, he would so try, that doubtlessly he would be far better than Sam in the role, Fletch’s legs were straighter, and after they, again, physically penetrated each other, and were, at that moment, lying back in the dark room, Moxie asked, “Fletcher?”
“Yes, Ma’m?”
“Where were you this morning?”
“When this morning?”
“I woke up at three o’clock. You weren’t in bed. You weren’t in the bathroom. You weren’t in the apartment at all.”
“I went out to do a spot of housebreaking.”
“Jeez,” Moxie said. “The way you say things I’d almost believe it. Not an actor, uh?”
“Not to worry. I got away with it.”
“Well.” She contracted and expanded, put her arm and her leg on his, so she’d be more comfortable. “I’ve done you a favor. A thousand-dollar favor. Or, a twenty-four thousand dollar favor, depending on your point of view.”
“How’s that again?”
“I’ve stolen a thousand dollars from you. From the wallet.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Well, it makes sense, Fletch. You’re not spending the money when you really need to because you want to be able to return the whole twenty-five thousand dollars to the man. Right?”
“Right.”
“Well, now you can’t return the whole twenty-five thousand dollars to the man. Because I’ve got a thousand dollars of it. So you might as well do the sensible thing and spend the rest of the money yourself. Right?”
“Are you serious?”
“As serious as a flash flood in Abu Zabi.”
“Perverted.”
“What?”
“Perverted reasoning.”
“Hardly.”
“Moxie, you’ve stolen a thousand dollars which doesn’t belong to me.”
“Right. Thus giving you use of twenty-four thousand dollars.”
“That’s corrupt. You’re a crook.”
“I’m a sensible, clever lady.”
“What have you done with the money?”
“Hidden it.”
“Where?”
“Some place you’ll never find it.”
“Where would that be?”
“That’s for me to know and for you not to find out.”
