Diary Friday – Part II

(Part I here)

Below follows the continuation of what I referred to as my “epic” day.

Strangely enough: In it, I mention going to see a show (which an ex of mine was in) – which was starring Alexandra Billings, who was just beginning her rise to fame. She now is a regular commenter on this blog, a Kate Hepburn afficianado, and I consider her a friend. Weird!! So much time has passed …

November – Part II

Ann, as it turns out, was sitting in her house having a parallel experience. Ann and I always end up having parallel experiences, even when our extenuating circumstances are very different. She is so great – she is immediately present. She jump-starts. I do that too. We never need catch-up time with one another.

She was totally confused at why I was calling her when I was supposed to be “doing death masks” with John.

“What happened?” she demanded.

And then, of course, we talked it out feverishly. Analyzed, discussed, theorized, hypothesized – picked that shit APART!! I wasn’t in a rage or anything. The whole thing actually seems kind of comedic – but still, I am a bit disturbed. So we had a good old talk about it. And she told me about her circumstances as well. Antivenom. Etc. Very long story.

I said, “Let’s do something! Want to do something?”

In a millisecond she was along for the ride.

We have been wanting for a while to go dancing at Whiskey River, a country-western bar, so we decided to do that and I suggested going to see the late-night show of Hamlet at Improv Olympic. Mitchell saw it when it first opened and said it was one of the funniest things he had ever seen in his life.

A bit of background. It’s Hamlet, the musical.

Jeff Richmond, the pianist for all those improv shows, wrote it – it’s a campy musical – like No No Nanette, or something – goofy and campy. Gertrude has a vamp number like “My Heart Belongs to Daddy’, only it’s entitled, “Mama is a Boy’s Best Friend”. It’s a runaway hit, and doing really well. It’s in the late night spot at the new Improv Olympic on Belmont. Alexandra Billings is playing Gertrude, and Mitchell says she is positively amazing. Alexandra makes entrances, as Gertrude, as though she is Bea Arthur or Helen Hayes or some Grande Dame of the American Theatre – and she completely pulls it off. She’s getting extraordinary reviews.

While I was in Ithaca, I talked on the phone with Mitchell once and he told me that he had run into Max at Higgins one night. [Ed: Sorry, have to keep giving biographical details here. Max was (and still is) a hugely important figure in my life. At this point, he had started dating another girl – so I hadn’t seen him in some time. All names are changed. ]

Max. One of the people in my life who is filled with dark magic. As a matter of fact, there is nobody else that has the same brand of dark magic for me as Max. I do not know why this is true, because the man is utterly insane, but it most definitely is true.

So anyway, Mitchell told me about their exchange. Of course Max was, as Mitchell put it, “painfully awkward”. Of course he was. I would be surprised if he were anything but – but also, there’s that sweetness he has …

Other people see only his painful awkwardness. Many of them interpret it as contempt, or scorn. Like, he couldn’t be bothered. Or he doesn’t want to talk to them. These people could not be more wrong. They miss the sweetness underneath.

I honestly do not know if anyone else sees him quite the way I do.

Very strange. When people hear I was involved with him, they give me this look, this shocked look, like, “Really???” This baffles me, because … all I can see is his sweetness. I know he’s weird and socially awkward and grumpy and crabby and bizarre … but what a joy he is, too!

Anyway.

Mitchell told me about his exchange with Max – (and now watch how I relate it as though I were there).

After the usual niceties were exchanged (and niceties with Max are always very painful, because he just seems to ENDURE them), Mitchell told Max that I was out of town doing a show. Max was awkwardly interested.

Anyway, as Mitchell relayed all of this to me, he said, “You know he’s playing Claudius.”

And no – I did not know that Max was now playing Claudius in Hamlet, the Musical. Max? singing and dancing? In a musical??? I could not stand the thought of it. it was positively too wonderful and too funny to contemplate.

“We have to see it,” I said.

“I have to see Max do it,” Mitchell said. “The other guy who played Claudis was this short fat troll-like guy – which was funny enough – having a troll be married to Alexandra Billings – but Max is so big and virile and handsome – it’ll be interesting to see his take on it. also – to watch the dynamic between Max and Alexandra. I literally cannot imagine what that will be like.”

Basically, I just want to see Max do a box step. I fear that I might laugh so hard I will split into a million pieces. Or that my heart will shatter onto the floor at the mere sight of Max, the painfully awkward grumpy weirdo, doing a BOX STEP. It just makes me happy to think of it.

So Mitchell apparently said to Max, “Hey, I hear you’re in Hamlet! That is so great! I didn’t know you could sing!”

This is my favorite part. In response to that, Max got kind of defensive and said, “I sing! … I sing … like Sheila sings.”

He gave Mitchell a frame of reference. Using my name. Which I think is just so comedic.

It was Max’s way of saying, “I’m not just Sheila’s goof-ball friend … I have a good voice … like Sheila’s…”

It was like when Max was trying to convince Mitchell that he was a valid member of his high school dance troupe.

[Ed: I cannot tell you how hard I laughed when I read that. I remember that night. It was a tequila-soaked night. Mitchell refused to believe that Max, big strapping jock boy, had been in a dance troupe in high school. Refused. “Max, you were not in a dance troupe. Come on!” So Max did a dance step, RIGHT AT Mitchell – very aggressively – we were in a crowded bar, too – Mitchell and I perched on bar stools, with Max suddenly doing this bad jazz combination right at us … See? I am crying with laughter right now. Later, Mitchell said to me, “I literally didn’t know what to do. The man chassed right in my face.” Shaking with laughter. Crying. I miss that boy!!]

So there are my background stories, and so Ann and I decided to go see Hamlet. It was an 11 pm show. I called for reservations. I was so DRIVEN to make something out of this evening which started out as a huge BUST.

And I had this very funny personal interlude with whoever was taking reservations. It was a guy – I didn’t ask his name – I called, and told the voice I would like to reserve tickets.

He said, “Okay, hold on one sec. I’ve got the TV on too loud.”

Er … was the box office in someone’s house?

Anyway, it could have ended there, but he sounded friendly, so I said, “What’re you watching?”

And what followed was this hilarious conversation – and for some reason – it just gave me so much joy. We should have exchanged phone numbers. He just cracked me UP.

I said, “What’re you watching?”

“That movie with Madonna and Harvey Keitel?”

“Oh, I heard that was very bad. How is it?”

“Yeah – I know it got bad reviews – but it’s really not that bad. A lot of it is very interesting, actually. Harvey Keitel plays a director, and it’s cool to watch him, see what he might be like as a director – and through a lot of it, you can’t tell what is real and what isn’t.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said.

“I love Harvey Keitel. Have you seen Pulp Fiction?” [Ed: It had just come out and, obviously, made a huge splash.]

This guy on the other end was so forthcoming and so friendly – we talked openly about the ups and downs of Harvey Keitel’s career.

Total strangers.

It was so funny, too, because Mitchell was sitting right there, and as far as he was concerned, I had just been calling the box office, and then I end up blithering with some person as though I have known him all my life. Mitchell was giving me such a funny look, like ‘Who the hell are you talking to, Sheila?’

My new best friend and I got back to the Madonna/Harvey Keitel movie – and he actually said, “No, its’ not bad at all. I really think you’d like it.”

That was the funniest moment of this conversation. Like – he knows my taste in movies now.

He said, “I think the people who had problems with it were …” and he hesitated. I could feel him trying to find the right words through the phone line.

I filled in the blank, taking a wild guess. “Shrill feminists?”

Apparently, that was the PERFECT term – I had put it for him perfectly – Also, he probably wanted to say something along the lines of “shrill feminists”, but wouldn’t – because he was talking to a woman, a female – He wouldn’t just assume that I’ve got my own brand of political incorrectedness going on for myself. He was being polite, careful. Men and women can be too careful with one another, until we realize that we speak the same language. But there are all kinds of land mines that could explode, if you don’t look out. And in that moment when he hesitated, he was looking out.

See how I analyze a phone conversation with a stranger?? But I know I’m right. That was EXACTLY what he went through in that pause.

But once I gave him the “all clear” sign, by saying “shrill feminists”, he said, almost relieved, “Yes! Exactly. Exactly. Shrill feminists would definitely not dig this movie.”

I don’t know why this encounter gave me so much joy, but it did.

Finally I ordered my tickets. Then we hung up with cheery good-byes, happy our paths had crossed.

I don’t know. If I had been in any danger of being in the doldrums before, because of the death-mask debacle, after talking to that box office guy I was out of danger. I love fortuitous out-of-the-blue moments like that, where you can randomly connect with another human being. They are gifts the day gives you.

I wish I could send him a card.

Ann and I went to Whiskey River and had a TOTAL BLAST.

Oh wait, I’m forgetting one absolutely insane thing. Before Ann arrived, I suddenly got the idea that I wanted to send Max a little good-luck gourd backstage. Some people send flowers. In this case, I preferred to send a gourd. As I mentioned before, our steps are covered in darling gourds, some all mottled and warty, some dark-green with orange bumps, some were smooth and orange, like little grenades.

I am insane.

So I went out and picked out a small orange grenade, I dried it all off – there was still a blustery rain storm going on – and wrote on it: “To Max – have a great show – From Sheila.” I was pretty much laughing the entire time.

I put the gourd in a paper bag.

When Ann and I got out of the car to go into Whiskey River, I felt a tiny (insane) twinge of separation anxiety re: my sad little gourd in its bag, and what is so FUNNY and so WONDERFUL is that Ann could feel this without me even having to say anything (and how crazy am I to feel anxious about being away from a gourd) – but she looked at me for a second, felt my anxiety, and then said the craziest thing of the night, “Do you want me to crack the window?”

I know for certain that I will forget that she said that, and some day – years from now – I will re-read that, and burst into laughter.

[Ed: I’m psychic. That’s just what I did this morning.]

We spent about 3 hours at Whiskey River. We sat at the bar, eating free food, wolfing down chicken wings – we were all about food – and consumption – guess we were hungry – that fucking roast beef sandwich hadn’t filled me up – Once she and I started eating, all conversation stopped. It was pathetic. We both noticed it, and then of course had to exaggerate it for comic effect and do various goofy improvs. Like one of us would start to talk to the other, and the other would raise her hand imperiously and say something like, “Please. Not now.” “Don’t talk to me while I’m eating.”

And then we danced. It was totally crowded, and we had a ball. It was so much fun, and just what I needed.

Who needs death masks.

We then left, and shrieked up towards Belmont. Parked. Walked. The place was already nearly full. I got all goofy and nervous about seeing Max. had a couple vertigoes. I gave my gourd in a bag to the girl in the box office.

“Please give this to Max,” I said. What if she peeked inside??

“He’s not here yet.”

Then – I got completely paranoid. I imagined that she was looking at me in some kind of sinister perusal. I even leapt to the frightening possibility that this was his new girlfriend, helping out at the box office. I’m not chasing Max right now – of course I’m not – I love that he has a girlfriend, and I’m happy for him … but … she would probably be pissed if she knew his ex was sending him random gourds.

I should be committed. I told Ann that I was afraid that the girl at the box office was maybe his girlfriend. She said, “I think you’re insane.”

[Ed: Laughing!!]

Then I admitted to her that EVEN STILL – even after all that has gone down – I have now known this man for 2 years – even still, I had this fear that he would get the gourd, look at it, and it would take him a second to figure out who I was.

Ann said, “Oh, now that is really crazy.”

No. You know what is really crazy? Sending a guy a GOURD in the first place.

At a couple of points, before the show began, Ann and I would suddenly burst into laughter at Max getting the gourd. Opening the paper bag in front of the rest of the cast.

“You gave him a gourd!!” Ann was hysterical.

And let me just say some things about the show: it was absolutely fantastic. An absolute blast. The script is unabashedly GOOFY, and it is exactly my sense of humor. Tom Lehrer-ish.

The lights go down after one scene. Lights come up. Hamlet comes onstage. Alone. The lights are dim. He comes down center stage. You know he is about to start the “To be or not to be” speech. He stands there for a second, looking out into the darkness contemplatively. He puts his arm up in a parody of Shakespearean acting, and begins, loudly: “To be … or not … to be …”

And then the doorbell rings, interrupting him.

And he keeps trying to get back to his soliloquy, and he keeps getting interrupted. It is goofy, and very funny.

Watching Max as Claudius, my boy filled with dark magic. I just have to say that it made me ridiculously happy to watch him dance around, singing and acting. I was goofily happy. He wore a colored cape. Which … I can’t even describe how funny that is. He wore a crown. And he would do this completely obvious evil behavior, like winking at Gertrude over Hamlet’s head, openly scheming, openly rolling his eyes.

He reminded me of Alan Rickman in Robin Hood. An over-the-top villain. Sneaking around like Bela Lugosi. The mere sight of his face makes me laugh. He also now has a sleazy little mustache and beard.

And yes, as he assured Mitchell, he “sings … like Sheila sings …” Hearing him harmonize, with that goofy campy music, was … sheer liquid delight.

The audience laughed from pretty much start to finish. Our stomachs hurt.

Alexandra Billings BLEW OUR MINDS. She is a force of nature.

We waited after the show to say Hello.

I mean, I couldn’t just leave after sending him a gourd like that.

We stood at the top of the aisle, where he wouldn’t miss us. he came out from backstage, long-haired, jeans, cigarette dangling. He came towards us, but he was looking past us. Maybe he was looking for us. If he got the gourd, he knew we were out there.

[Ed: See, it’s casually crazy sentences like that which absolutely crack me up. “If he got the gourd, he knew we were out there.” What??]

I stuck my hand out in his line of vision to get his attention. He stopped – saw me. And any stupid STUPID fears I might have had completely dissolved with the expression on his face when he saw me.

Sheer joy.

I said, “Hi!” And then – the joy was on hold –for just one second – he said, with a strange stopped feeling, “Hi – hold on one second … Stay put. Don’t move. I want you to meet my girlfriend. Last time you came to an improv show, she bitched me out for not introducing you.”

She did?

Then he disappeared. I could hear him calling into the theatre, “Angie! Angie!” – anyway, I had enough time to have a brief private pow-wow with Ann.

It went like this, rapid-fire dialogue, under the breath:

“Oh my God. He’s getting Angie.”

“Oh, God.”

“How do I look? Be honest. Do I look okay?”

“Yes.”

I was nervous to meet the girlfriend, and yet … my heart felt like it had little wings beating. Little joyous wings. I can’t really explain it. Somehow – Max and I – two dysfunctional strange people – got through to each other. I don’t know how we did it, but we did. I also don’t know why I keep doubting it. but I do.

So there he was – summoning Angie to come meet me. I heard him say to her, “Sheila’s here – come meet Sheila.”

I felt a wee bit ridiculous. Does she know about the gourd?

[Ed: Again, funny funny. I write that as though that is a normal thing to say.]

And here’s the kicker: I am NOT in love with him. He may have the world’s dark magic, but I am not in love with him. These feelings have nothing to do with love or anything like that. They just are. It’s a one-of-a-kind relationships, that could never ever be duplicated. It’s about fondness. Pure and simple. Mutual fondness. Punctuated by painful awkwardness. Unembattled affection, friendly, occasionally weird – no big deal.

So suddenly, there was Angie. And Max fled. I think it was all too much for him, and he needed to regroup. He is the most awkward man alive. And this? Having Angie meet me? The only other important woman in his life? I think Max would have spontaneously combusted, and she and I would have spent all our time trying to take care of him. It was good that he fled.

He dumped Angie into our laps, and then dashed away, with nary a word.

We all introduced ourselves, shook hands, nice nice nice, smile smile smile. Angie didn’t seem – well, she was not a bitch, she was not mean – but I didn’t feel kindred-spirit potential in her.

However, I cut her all the slack in the world, knowing what it feels like to be a threatened girlfriend. She wasn’t prepared for my being there. So what was going through her mind? Like – does she think I’m stalking him, or trying to make trouble? If I were her, I would think that.

So I cut her a tremendous amount of slack.

She is very petite, tiny bones. Very pretty, wears a lot of makeup. Her eyelashes were so long and so black that they cast a shadow across her cheekbones, in a very pretty way. Her face is perfect porcelain. Her hair is auburn ringlets.

I was doing my best to just be as polite and as un-threatening as it is possible to be. It took a lot of concentration.

I don’t think it would be possible for her to like me. I didn’t want her to like me, and if I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t have liked me. But I did want her to know I posed no threat, and I respect their relationship. (Gourds notwithstanding.)

Max had told me, last time I ran into him, that she had finally said to him, “Look – if you need to still be friends with that girl – I’m okay with that. Just don’t hide it from me.” That was what his whole: “Sheila’s here!” moment was about. So I can tell that she is actually kind of a cool chick. She knows that she can’t expect a man to be a blank slate.

But she had to assert her territory, and I completely let her. I let her run the show.

We did not have a conversation. She talked at us. Which was fine. Completely understandable. She yanked the conversation into her control by commenting on our names. “Oh my God – Such Irish Catholic names! It makes me afraid! Like I shouldn’t cuss in front of you guys or something!”

Ann and I laughed – but it was forced – I felt forced, anyway. But it was okay. I understand territories. I understood her need to stake her claim. Max is her territory now. She needed to subtly let me know that.

We laughed obligingly and I said, “Don’t’ sweat it. We’re fallen cherubs.” Which perhaps was not the most appropriate thing to say, seeing as I was trying to be un-threatening and normal.

But it was okay, because she didn’t really hear me.

“Is this your first time seeing the show?” she asked.

“Yes—” we both said, and she then told this very long story about Max’s opening night, and his problems with his costume and Ann and I listened and laughed where we should laugh and neither of us said a word. I may sound like I’m being a bitch here but I’m not. I do not begrudge her this at all. I probably would have acted the same way.

During her entire story, what I was REALLY hearing was her silent subtext, which was: “He’s mine. He’s mine now. He’s mine now.” Of course. I would have done the same thing. She kept using the words “my boyfriend”. She never ever said his name. It was “my boyfriend, my boyfriend, my boyfriend…” Again, a territorial thing.

She was very dramatic. Smoking a cigarette, very glamorous, the shadows of her eyelashes, the pale pale skin.

At the end of her story, Max came back and joined us (having regrouped his awkward emotions in the bathroom. I relate.)

I felt that my job in this entire awkward exchange was to cut EVERYBODY slack. Let them be weird, awkward, hostile, strange … while I remained cool and gracious and friendly. I think, all in all, it worked.

He was sweet with her. Very protective. Obviously proud of her. It was heartwarming to see. Love sits well on him. It really does.

I did tell him I hated his mustache though and told him he looked like a sleaze-ball.

[Ed: This to me is hilarious. I saw no contradiction, apparently, by saying that I was cutting everyone slack – and then turning around and telling him his facial hair made him look sleazy. I’m sure, though, Max took it in the playful spirit it was meant. He almost never misunderstood me. I never had to explain myself twice to him. Weird.]

Ann and I raved to him about the show. We told him our stomachs hurt from laughing. At one point, Angie walked away to talk to someone. And suddenly – spontaneously – wonderfully – Max put his arms around me and gave me this huge and (of course, what else) very awkward hug. We could never be anything but awkward in this situation, but it is the friendliest most okay awkwardness on the planet. We revel in the awkwardness.

I wasn’t expecting him to hug me like that. We were never big huggers anyway. So I kind of awkwardly hugged him back, and I just could feel this gladness emanating off of him. Glad-ness to see me, and so happy to introduce me to his new girl. Closure. Or something.

Who would have ever thought …

He asked me questions about Ithaca and the show I did.

At one point I said, “Max. You wearing a crown. I mean, come on. It’s so funny.”

I said to Mitchell later, “It is so weird. Because – essentially – the role he has played in my life has been quite peripheral.”

Mitchell said, “Yeah. But also, at the same time, somehow profound.”

Perfectly put. Max has been peripheral and yet somehow profound.

I said to him, “Oh hey, my CD should be coming out next month!” (Oh, it’s my CD now…)

[Ed: The CD to which I refer was a duet I did with Pat McCurdy on this album. Right, Mark?]

Max knew exactly what I was talking about – he lit up with interest.

“You’re on it?”

“So I hear. So check your local Tower Records in December.”

Max beamed at me with pride.

He then said, “Well. I should probably get going.”

I reached out and touched his arm. “Great show, Max. It is so good to see you.”

He said, at the same time, “Thanks for coming, Sheila. You too.”

I said, “Please tell Angie we said good-bye, won’t you?”

“I will, I will.”

We were both strangely moved. I can’t explain it. We were strangely moved.

We backed away, saying, “Bye!”

We are both the better for having had that exchange. For whatever reason. The whole thing. Meeting Angie. Maybe she can relax about me now. I hope so. I wish him the best. In all things.

But still. Sending him a gourd.

I certainly rescued my night from the death mask spiral. It was epic. I’m very happy. In a very goofy way.