Arthur and I sit on the couch in the sunroom, sharing a script to run the lines one more time before I make him do it by memory. He’s nervous in the way you are when you are anticipating your own failure, and he’s decided that this failure is my fault. If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother.
“You’re the worst Oliver, Mom. I mean how am I going to do my lines when you read like a robot?”
Sigh. “Want Bernadette to do it?” Please, dear God.
“She’s worse than you. Go on.” We flip through a few more pages of his first scene and I’m pretty sure he’s about to cry.
“How about we try the music?” I suggest. “Bernie, get the soundtrack and we’ll try to sing along to Fagin’s songs.”
“Fine,” Arthur says, though nothing is.
“Oh! I like this one,” I say. I get up and start singing, “You can go but be back soon,” adding arm movements and a little side-to-side sashay. My kids are laughing at me, which is fine because, for now, no one’s crying.
When the song ends, Arthur says, “Do it again!”
From the sunroom door, I hear, “Good God, please don’t.” It’s Leo, shoeless, letting himself in. “You just . . .” He’s shaking his head at Arthur. “Dude, you’re hosed.”
“No kidding,” Arthur says. And he and Bernadette both crack up.
“Hey, I’m not that bad,” I say.
“Nora, you are exactly that bad. I think your Fagin’s more depressing than your movie,” Leo says, and now they’re all laughing.
We follow Leo into the kitchen, where he’s helping himself to another of Mickey’s beers. “Smells good in here.”
“It’s a pot roast,” says Bernadette. “It’s better than her dancing.” More laughs.
I’m entirely comfortable being the butt of the evening’s jokes. At me or with me, this laughter has swept all of the tension out of the room. What if I could just serve dinner to the sound of people laughing? What if Arthur gets so relaxed that his brain actually lets some of these lines in? Being tonight’s punch line is totally worth it.
We sit down to pot roast, carrots, rice, and salad. I open a bottle of chardonnay, which I know I’ll have to share. Arthur asks Leo, “So, do you know Fagin? Like in the play?”
“I do,” he says. “And I know it isn’t whatever that was.” He’s indicating me with his fork, and it’s all laughs again.
“Yeah, I had a feeling,” says Arthur. “Do you think he’s a villain? It’s kind of confusing, because he’s pretty nice to the boys.”
“I think he’s the best kind of villain,” Leo says. “He’s the kind of villain who does something horrible but who we still love. You can see his humanity, even though he’s taking advantage of those boys. Characters like Fagin get to the core of what it means to be a human being—we are both light and dark.” We are stunned. “What?” he asks. And we all start to laugh.
“Where’d that come from?” I ask.
“That was a lot of words,” says Bernadette.
“Well, this is sort of my wheelhouse. Oliver Twist happens to be my favorite play. And I’ve played Fagin.”
“Aw, come on,” we’re all saying in tandem. Bernadette throws her napkin on the table in disgust.
“I’m not going to help you. I will not lead you down the path to being an actor,” he says to Arthur. “It’s empty.”
Arthur smiles. “Do you seriously think I could become an actor with this woman as my mother. I’m half her!” We all laugh, and time stops for a moment where I feel the warmth of this laughter and watch the dimming light leave these three faces in shadow—my children and the most famous actor in America.
Leo pours himself another glass of wine, and I protectively fill mine. I’m learning. He takes a sip and tilts back in his chair in the infuriating manner of teenagers. “If I agree to read lines with you, just tonight, will you promise me you will never become a professional actor?”
I like to play the odds, and I’m thinking this is a pretty safe promise to make. There’s a one percent chance Arthur’s going to want to be a professional actor and less of a chance Leo will even remember who he is by then.
Arthur considers Leo. “I won’t promise that. But I do need help.” This makes Bernadette and me smile, just the moxie of it.
“Looks like you got a full set of dimples with that one,” Leo says. “How much time do we have?”