Elizabeth the First Wife (3 page)

In one graceful move, he grabbed my extra chair, pulled it closer to my desk, and sat down on the edge of the seat, “I have a proposal for you, Professor Lancaster.”

Our knees were almost touching.
A proposal?
I was afraid to open my mouth, convinced unfortunate squeaking noises would come out. Like the Tin Man in
The Wizard of Oz
, only not so charming. So I used my timeworn technique of lifting my eyebrows and lowering my chin, as if to say, “Go on.”

It worked. One of the world's biggest movie stars continued. “I want you to come to Ashland with me this summer for the Shakespeare Festival. I'm doing a production of
A Midsummer Night's Dream
. You, me, Shakespeare. How perfect is that, right? Remember sophomore year? I need you on the team. As a producer or consultant or whatever you want to call yourself. And guess who might be directing?”

I managed a shrug and a head shake.

“Taz Buchanan. Freakin' Taz Buchanan. The original director dropped out because the surrogate delivered early and he and his partner are home with twins. But then I ran into Taz in a bar in
London and the next thing you know, boom, he's interested. I go to New York next week to seal the deal, I hope. But I need your help. We have two months to pull it together. A couple weeks of rehearsal with an eight-week run. Please say you'll do it.”

Of all the proposals that might have come out of FX's mouth—Let's go for a beer! Can you dig up my Counting Crows CDs? Would you be a character witness at my trial?—this is the one I least expected. I finally found my voice, “That is a proposal. But why me? Don't you have people who would be better suited?”

He shook his head. “Better suited? Just your use of the phrase ‘better suited' makes me realize how perfect you are for this.” He relaxed back into the chair like my acceptance was a done deal. “And Taz Buchanan? You've gotta want to work with him, right?'

Yes, FX, I often fantasize about working with brilliant but temperamental directors like Taz Buchanan in my role as faculty advisor to the campus Theater Appreciation Club
. “Ah, that possibility has never really come up in my career,” I responded, then shook my head a little. “FX, what's the real story? Are you down a babysitter? Is that why you want me?”

His face got serious. “I did not sleep with that babysitter. Seriously, have you seen her? She's like sixty. Or fifty anyway. Things are over with Bebe, but not because of any babysitter. Although, I could use some time out of the limelight. …”

Now we were getting somewhere. Here was the thing about FX—despite the box office, despite the perfect dimple on the perfect chin, despite the ease with which he glided through the world, he was not a bad guy. And, much as I hated to admit it, he was impossible to dislike. Not liking FX was like not liking bunnies.

“What's going on?”

“I have a movie coming out in the fall. It's really good, Liz. And I'm…really good in it.” I knew, of course, about his movie. Starting with last year's Super Bowl ad,
Dire Necessity
had been called everything from “a masterpiece” to a top Oscar contender
months before its premiere. It starred FX Fahey as General George Washington in the days leading up to the crossing of the Delaware. Only in Hollywood could somebody with unrelenting bone structure and a personality like a yellow lab be cast as a brilliant soldier with a pockmarked face and wooden teeth. But according to the story I read in
US Weekly
(I was at the nail salon), FX Fahey quite simply embodied the leader of the Continental Army. Or so said his PR person. He was also getting credit as a producer on the film, a first for him. “This is a big deal for me, and I want to make sure everything that could happen, does happen.”

FX gave me the same openly sincere look he threw my way during our first-night freshmen mixer at Wesleyan, fall of 1993. Back when he was simply Francis, a Seattle-bred, Nirvana-loving aspiring English major in a flannel shirt and Doc Martens. “I want to change my generation with my poetry,” he had said that night, as if he really, really meant it. And I really, really fell for it. It didn't matter that most of the poetry he quoted to me was actually written by Kurt Cobain. I was in a heart-shape box for the next five years.

And here I was, falling for it again after more than a decade of being Francis-free. At least this time I wasn't wearing a thrift-store granny dress and cowboy boots. Small victories.

“I get that the movie's important. That's great, FX. But where does the Shakespeare fit in? Sounds like you need a marketing team, not a professor-slash-producer.”

“Oh, I have a team. That's who wants me to go to Ashland. According to my agent, my manager, and my publicist, I need to raise my acting profile before the movie comes out to be taken seriously for a nomination.” He was all business now. He didn't get this far in his career because he didn't understand the score. “Doing live theater is exactly what my resume needs now. It's real, it's brave, and, you know, Shakespeare is classy. Not every action hero can do that shit. Can you imagine Channing Tatum as Hamlet?”

“Well,
Midsummer
is not exactly
Hamlet
, but I guess I see the
point.” But I was still vague on what my role might be in the FX Fahey Road to the Oscars. “You know, FX, I haven't worked on anything but student productions in the last ten years. Sure, I've led some tours to Ashland for students and friends of my mother, but Taz Buchanan and the Oregon Shakespeare Festival are both kind of out of my league.”

The Oregon Shakespeare Festival, or OSF as it was commonly referred to, was one of the top repertory theaters in the country, thanks to consistently excellent directing, acting, and production values. It produced about a dozen plays a year, everything from four or five Shakespeare titles to new plays by emerging writers. Hundreds of thousands of theater fans made their way to the tiny charming town of Ashland during the season to sit under the stars and feel the power of live theater. It wasn't a place for amateurs.

“You'd work for me. You'd be my person. I need you to keep me on track, to make sure I don't do anything too stupid. To be the voice of good judgment, like you always are.” FX noticed my raised eyebrows. “Onstage. Only onstage, not offstage. I'm a big boy. I'll lay low when the curtain comes down. I'm totally focused on this. We have, like, no time to produce this thing, and Taz is Taz. I just need to know the production won't go off the rails. Creatively. And I know you won't let that happen. You care too much about this stuff. It's just, I mean, I haven't done live theater, you know, since. …”

Ah, yes, since what Frank Rich, the
New York Times
theater critic at the time, called “the most self-indulgent three hours ever produced for the Broadway stage,” otherwise known as FX's turn in
Coriolanus
in 2002. (And that was one of the better reviews.) He offered up his performance as a “gesture toward healing in the post–September 11th world”—a fatal miscalculation about his worth to the American psyche. He paid for his hubris for years, with mocking referrals and unrelenting ridicule. I admit, at the time, it pleased me. Since then, the green screen has been his friend, and he hasn't stepped foot on a stage other than at the Golden Globes. Now, to get
his Oscar nomination, he was ready to conquer his demons, but he thought he needed me there.

I was flattered.

I shuffled papers around on my desktop, stalling for time. “What role are you playing?”

“We're doing the dual-role interpretation. I'll be Theseus and Oberon.”

Perfect, the King of Athens and the king of the Fairies. One powerful in reality; the other powerful in the dream world. Now I was impressed, damn it. And interested.

“I have to think about this. I do have a life here, you know. I have a lot going on. A lot.”

I had nothing on my calendar for the summer. Seriously, not even a dentist appointment. State funding for community colleges was so bad that all my usual writing classes had been canceled for the summer. I was actually considering starting a college-essay advising business to take advantage of all the wealthy Pasadena parents who didn't want their kids to do time at PCC and had the money to buy their way into a small liberal arts school in Ohio, thanks to tutors. But I hadn't even put up a flyer on the community boards at the trendy coffeehouses yet. Still, FX didn't need to know all that. “It's not so easy to pack up and relocate for the summer.”

He nodded. “I'm sure you're booked, and I know it will take some rescheduling. I'll take care of everything, and I mean that. Housing, transportation, and whatever you want for a fee. Really. Whatever.”

Good to see a touch of guilt surfacing. FX handed me a card with his agent's contact information. “I need you, Liz. Think about it and then call my agent. We'll set up a meeting. We'll sign a contract and iron everything out. This is a real job offer.”

“Not an au pair position. I get it. I'll think about it, FX.” There was a knock on the door and one of my students, Julio Jimenez, popped his head in. It was time for our weekly advisor meeting. God
bless Julio. I stood up to signal the end of our conversation. “Give me a couple of days.”

FX gave me a double-cheek kiss. Yup, limes with a little bit of mint. “Come to Ashland, Lizzie.”

As FX shut the door, Julio stared him down. “Hey, was that…?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Cool! How do you know FX Fahey, Professor?”

I spun my chair around to look out the window facing the quad. “I was married to him.”

Kate & Petruchio FROM THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

HER:
Take your pick: either Acid-tongued Shrew in need of a Good Man or Smart Ambitious Woman with limited options in sixteenth-century upper-crust society.

HIM:
Swaggering, Arrogant Gold Digger with six-pack abs. Loves money more than love.

MEET CUTE:
Lust at first sight. Blind date arranged by father looking to marry off old-maid daughter. Verbal sparring establishing the two are intellectual equals. Did I mention lust?

HISTORICAL NOTE:
The meeting of Kate and Petruchio has inspired every rom-com since the dawn of time. And the taming of Kate by Petruchio has aroused hatred in every feminist who ever read the play.

RELATIONSHIP LOW POINTS:
Forced arranged marriage; disastrous wedding (groom arrives late, wears a ridiculous outfit, and forces bride to leave without dinner); and harsh wife-taming process that includes starvation and sleep deprivation.

WHY THEY WORK:
Smart is sexy. Sex is sexy. And no one else will have them.

HIS BEST LINE:
“Why there's a Wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.”

HER BEST LINE:
“Asses are meant to bear and so are you.”

SHAKESPEAREAN COUPLE MOST LIKELY TO:
Swing.

WHO PLAYS THEM IN THE MOVIE:
Emma Stone and Justin Timberlake.

CHEMISTRY FACTOR:
4.5 OUT OF 5