Isaac
Frank let me into Marty’s office, then ran out to tell him I was here. I settled in to wait, feeling like a student sent to the principal’s office: about to get my ass handed to me. These consequences would be far worse than detention. Marty was probably pissed mad as all hell. Who was I kidding—he was hurt.
I leaned against the desk in my expensive jeans and black jacket and tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal. Like I had some kind of upper hand. Then Marty burst in, red faced and breathing fire. Anger crackled around him; I’d never seen him so pissed off in my life. And though I’d expected it, seeing so much outrage in Martin Ford was unsettling.
“Three years,” he said without preamble, slamming the door behind him. “Three years without a word. Not one. You showing up for your father’s funeral doesn’t count. You said nothing to me then. You’ve said nothing to me since.”
“Marty,” I said. “I’m sorry—”
He took a step closer, his finger stabbing the air at me. “And don’t get me started on Brenda or Benny or Willow.”
I gritted my teeth. “I know, I’ve been—”
“And now you just show up in my office fifteen minutes before I go onstage? What the hell, Isaac? Want me to hold the curtain so we can get a cup of fucking coffee?”
He stared at me, his jaw clenching. For a moment, I thought he’d have me hauled out of the building. Hell, maybe call the police. Or simply plant a foot in my ass and kick me to the street. As he took two steps toward me, I sort of wished he would.
Do it, I thought. I don’t deserve you, Marty.
Instead, he grabbed my shoulders and engulfed me in a hug. My eyes fell shut with relief and gratitude.
“I thought I was too late. I thought you’d hate me,” I said gruffly.
“I do hate you.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Marty pulled back and held me at arm’s length. “Are you here for real? To stay and talk? And be here?”
I nodded.
“Okay then, what I told you still holds. There’s no such thing as too late. If you’re really here then I stand by that. But Jesus, Isaac. What do I tell Willow?”
“I don’t want her to know I’m here. Not until after the performance.”
“She’s the reason we’re sold out,” Marty said, crossing his arms and smiling. “I don’t know where you’re going to sit.”
“I’ll stand in the back. As long as I can see her, I’ll be happy”
Marty’s smile fell. “Why did you come back?”
“For her,” I said. “For you and Brenda and Benny, but for her. I want to talk to her, to sort out what happened and—What?”
Marty was shaking his head. “No, no, no. I’ve grown very protective of her. Very.”
“I don’t want to hurt her, Marty,” I said. “It’s the last thing I want to do, but she… Fuck.”
“She hurt you too,” Marty finished. “You’re pissed off at her, but you don’t have the whole story. Not by a long shot. Did she tell you what her father threatened?”
“No, she refused to tell me.”
“You can’t guess?” he asked, his tone heavy.
“I don’t know. Yes, I can. He’d have me arrested for being at his house. He’d sue my dad into oblivion. He would’ve pulled her out of the show and we would’ve lost Hamlet but so what? I was willing to lose everything if it meant keeping her. She didn’t believe me.”
“It wasn’t just Hamlet you’d lose,” Marty said. “Her father threatened to have you arrested for statutory rape.”
The word hung in the air, ugly and vile. The blood drained from my face and I swallowed. “Okay,” I said slowly. “I should’ve expected that too. But even so—”
“Not even so. He vowed to use his position and power to destroy your reputation permanently. To label you a sex predator so no one in Hollywood would ever dream of hiring you. It wasn’t only Hamlet she was trying to protect. It was everything. You, the money your father owed, your future.”
“I never…I didn’t realize he hated me that much. Or her.”
“From what she told me, the night he caught you leaving his house was a nightmare. Beyond anything you can imagine. And I don’t say this to make you feel worse…”
“Fucking Christ, Marty. Too late.” I sagged against the desk.
“But I’m going to be honest with you. If you came back here with the idea of rehashing what happened three years ago with her, I’m going to kick your ass into next week. The girl has suffered enough. You didn’t know. She never told you, and you dealt with losing her the best you could. I get that. But I demand that you be careful with that girl’s heart.”
I clenched my jaw against the tears forming in my eyes. “I shut down,” I said. “It’s what I do. I just…”
“I know, son. You haven’t had it easy either.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know that too,” Marty said, bringing me back into his embrace. “And so is she.”
“I don’t know what comes next,” I said, pulling away and wiping my eyes against the crook of my arm. “You’re the director, Marty. Direct.”
“Her parents are throwing a party for us at the Renaissance in Braxton. Watch the play, and then come with.”
“Her parents?” I asked. I shook my head. “No. I need to see her alone.”
“It would be better, methinks, if you saw her in public place. She can decide for herself if she wants to talk alone, or remain with her friends. Her support. Fair?”
I hesitated and Martin gripped my shoulders.
“Don’t waste one more second,” Marty said. “Every second that goes by is another mile between you. The distance is long enough already.”
“Does she want to see me?” I asked, feeling as raw and exposed as I ever had in my life. The kind of naked emotion I’d turned into silence, to bury and protect myself.
“I don’t know,” Marty said. “But if I had to guess…” He held up his hands, his smile kind and full of hope. “I’d say it’s never too late.”
Marty had a cancellation from a ticket-holder in the front row. Me sitting there was out of the question, so Marty played a little musical chairs and got me a seat in the last row where Willow couldn’t see me.
The houselights dimmed. The murmured talk of five hundred people quieted. The lights came up onstage and I laid eyes on Willow for the first time in three years.
I sucked in a breath. She was so beautiful. Almost twenty-one years old now, she carried herself with the grace and dignity of someone much older. Someone who’d been through hell and back and was still standing.
Over the next two hours, she took her character from a naïve, hopeful young wife, to a woman ready to stand on her own in a society where being married and having children was the ultimate goal.
She was brilliant. Electrifying and subtle at the same time. But it was in the final scene that she mesmerized. She sat in a chair, her hands folded in her lap. Perfectly still and straight. The eye of the storm that was her husband. Len Hostetler as Helmer, circling around her in confusion and then panic.
“Playtime shall be over, and lesson-time shall begin,” Len said.
“Whose lessons? Mine, or the children's?”
They argued. Or rather, Len argued. Willow conveyed her lines with a quiet certainty. And dignity.
“I must stand quite alone,” Willow said, her face to the audience. She could’ve been talking to me. Or to her father. Or Justin Baker or Xavier. To all the men in her life who tried to make her into something she wasn’t.
“I am to understand myself and everything about me. It is for that reason that I cannot remain with you any longer.”
Len was every man who watched the woman in his life tell him she no longer needed him. The jilted boyfriend. The failed pick-up in a bar. The online rejection after an unsolicited proposition was shot down.
“You are out of your mind! I won't allow it! I forbid you!”
“It is no use forbidding me anything,” Willow said calmly “I will take with me what belongs to myself. I will take nothing from you, either now or later.”
“This is how you would neglect your most sacred duties to your husband and your children?”
“I have other duties just as sacred.”
“That you have not! What duties could those be?”
“Duties to myself.”
I sank in my chair, my hand pressed to my lips. The pain of losing her, once so sharp, mellowed and transformed as I watched her. As I listened to her.
It was so easy to blame her for what happened. For not standing up for us when I was willing to risk everything. But the truth was she’d stood up for me, and I had let her fall. She’d been trying to protect me and I couldn’t convince her I didn’t need protection. That I would’ve gladly suffered the slings and arrows her father threw at me.
What I hadn’t taken into account was that she could not.
I’d only added my weight to the tremendous pressure she carried. The fact she hadn’t been crushed was a testament to her bravery and strength. Sitting there, watching her perform, I felt a fierce pride I didn’t deserve. I had nothing to do with her success or talent or courage. She owned every bit of it herself.
The only thing left for me to do was throw myself at her feet and beg forgiveness.