Give My Regards to Nowhere, page 1
Give My Regards to Nowhere
A Director’s Tale
Richard Engling
Copyright © 2023 by Richard Engling. All rights reserved. This book, in whole or in part, may not be used, reproduced, or quoted in any manner whatsoever without prior permission in writing from the author except in the case of brief quotations within the text of reviews or critical articles. For information, please contact the author. www.richardengling.com
The characters and events in this book are fictitious—even those characters named after real people are inventions. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Polarity Ensemble Books
www.polarityensemblebooks.com
Cover design by Laura Boyle
Author photo by Emi Clark
Also available in audio and paperback editions.
ISBN 978-0-9776610-7-7
Printed in the United States of America
1
Friday, October 7, 2003
Dwayne Finnegan was aware, as he took a breath, that this was the moment that could make or break him. He found that prospect deeply exciting. “What makes sex better?” he said, an intimation of pleasure in his voice. “What makes food better? What propels dancers irresistibly across the floor in one another’s arms?” He raised his dark eyebrows and grinned his lopsided grin. “The same thing that will put this production over the top,” he whispered. Brad Cunningham, the man who could transform his life, leaned toward him and began to grin back. It was working! Dwayne wound into the final details of his pitch. All his talent as an actor, as a director, as a student of Shakespeare flowed into this. He would triumph!
“What would take Titus Andronicus,” he said pointedly, “Shakespeare’s most violent, least favorite play, and turn it into an event that no one in the city of Chicago will be able to resist?” He let the question hang in the air, then stood up and raised his arms. “Listen! Imagine if we could resurrect Jimi Hendrix and put him on a platform at the top of the set overlooking the action, playing his iconic electric acid blues to drive the choreographed swordplay, to propel the throat-cutting, to punctuate the beheading, and to agitate and exacerbate the sexual violence that fills this play. We would have a Titus Andronicus like no one has ever imagined. Electrifying. Visceral. Tribal drums. Hendrix guitars. Propulsive music. Kick-ass performances. A production that no one will ever forget.” Dwayne’s heart raced with the excitement. “And it’s driven by music originated by the greatest guitarist the world has ever known.” He clapped his hand on the tabletop and slid back into the booth next to Tom, his choreographer and co-conspirator.
What did Brad think? Brad also leaned back across from them, and dropped into deep thought, looking like a sphinx, as he so often did. Dwayne waited. The silence carried on until Dwayne forgot to breathe. So much depended on this! Dwayne’s life depended on this!
Be cool. Just be cool.
“I like it,” Brad said at last, sitting up again in the window booth at the Elephant & Castle Pub. A train rattled by on the elevated tracks out in front of the restaurant. An automobile honked and a police siren sang in the distance. “I like the whole concept.”
“And Foxx?” Dwayne asked. That was the most important question. What about Foxx?
“This is something I could take to Foxx.”
Brad’s words surged into Dwayne’s soul. He had to control his urge to shout out a halleluiah. Tom vibrated with joy next to him.
Brad, of course, still looked cool. He brushed a piece of lint from his suit jacket and adjusted the collar of his black silk shirt, gazing out at the corner of Wabash and Lake. Cars and pedestrians flowed past on the other side of the glass.
“Excellent,” Dwayne said, covering a gasp for breath with a little laugh. He had to remember to keep breathing! He leaned back with what he hoped was a casual elegance. If Brad recommended him, it could redeem his reckless life choices. No more groveling for pennies. He could even get health insurance. And hire his friends. But more important, he could graduate into productions that operated under Actors Equity union rules, which meant he’d be working during the daytime, and he and Angela could have their evenings together like a normal couple, and she wouldn’t want to divorce him. How he would love to be a union man! Actors Equity Association. The Stage Directors and Choreographers Society. He could be a real boy.
Be cool. Just be cool.
“Oh my god!” Tom gushed. “That would be so amazing!” He clapped his hands and took a sip of his Grasshopper. Of course Tom was not going to be cool. Tom had all the cool of a love-crazed golden retriever puppy.
“You know what Foxx’s Emerging Directors Program did for me,” Brad said.
Yes, Dwayne knew, and that’s what he wanted for himself. Brad had gone from a nobody to a high-profile director. Of course Dwayne also knew how much of Brad’s success came from sucking up other people’s ideas and talent.
“From The Public Theater to Broadway to a Tony nomination,” Tom interjected, practically singing. “I knew you were going to be a star ever since Dwayne and I were kids in your summer camp!”
Brad gave a dry chuckle, then frowned and cleared his throat. “See, here’s the thing: This would be the first time I recommend someone to Foxx. So it’s important that it go well. Otherwise, my stock with him falls. And that costs me.”
Dwayne felt his stomach clench. “What do you mean?” His pitch had gone so well. He’d really sold him. But now what?
A hostess led a couple past their booth toward at table at the back. The man looked annoyed. Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes, and she choked back a sob. “Why do you have to do this?” the man grumbled under his breath.
Was everyone having a bad time?
“You know how it works,” Brad said. “The Tony nomination put a feather in my cap. When I didn’t win, it took it back out.”
“But you’re a Tony-nominated director,” Tom sputtered. “No one can take that away from you.”
“The day before the Tony ceremony, everyone wanted to kiss my ring,” Brad said. “The day after, they all looked at me with pity and moved away. That’s the reality of New York.”
“Gee,” Tom said.
“So if you shine,” Brad said, leaning in towards Dwayne, “it reflects well on me. But if you don’t, the next time I suggest something to Foxx, it’s tainted. I’d like to help you, but what happens if your little show sucks? If you do badly, maybe later Foxx will turn me down for something I want. Then I’m screwed because you failed.”
It was always about Brad.
“You’ve known me since I was sixteen,” Dwayne pleaded, struggling to keep his voice reasonable and confident. “You know how hard I work.” And that was true. Dwayne had fallen in love with the theatre guided by Brad. He’d been a mediocre high school student, uninspired in the classroom, uninterested in anything other than swim team. He tried out for the school plays his sophomore year, but he wasn’t cast. Then Tom, whom he didn’t know well at the time, convinced him to enroll in Brad’s summer theatre camp at Evanston’s Ridgeville Park District. Brad was leading it as an independent study project for his junior year at Northwestern. That changed everything. Dwayne worked hard and sucked up everything Brad taught. And Brad was good. The next year Dwayne started getting lead roles in the high school plays and even his grades improved. When he graduated, Dwayne chose to go on to Northwestern University because Brad was continuing on to graduate school there. He invested every bit of his soul in what Brad taught.
Brad knew exactly how hard he worked.
“I do,” Brad agreed sincerely, if only for a moment. “Still, if you fail to impress Foxx, it costs me.”
“How much?” Tom demanded, his voice sharp.
Brad leaned back, eyes wide. “What?
Tom slapped his hand on the table. “How much does it cost you?”
“You mean in dollars?” Brad asked.
“At Northwestern Dwayne was brilliant in your Marat/Sade—and in your Desire Under the Elms—and that helped you get your MFA. So if you can’t trust him based on that, then, yeah, dollars. How many dollars does Dwayne have to risk?”
Wait! Money? Why is he talking about my money?
“I’m not looking for a bribe,” Brad demurred.
“I’m not suggesting a bribe, Brad,” Tom snapped. “I’m saying if you think you are risking your clout with Foxx, maybe Dwayne could risk some money. If Gregor Foxx sees Dwayne’s Titus Andronicus and accepts him in the Emerging Directors’ Program, Dwayne gets his money back. If Foxx doesn’t like the show to the point that Dwayne embarrasses you, you get the money to make up for it.”
“Wait…” Dwayne said. What the hell is all this talk about money?
“Maybe there is some merit in that,” Brad mused.
“So how much?” Tom demanded. “Five grand?”
“Five grand!” Dwayne sputtered. He didn’t have five grand.
“I doubt Dwayne has five grand,” Brad said.
Dwayne blushed deeply red.
“Then what?” Tom said.
“Two grand sounds about right.”
“Done!” Tom said. “I’ll hold Dwayne’s money in a special account. After Gregor Foxx makes his decision, one of you gets it. Good?”
Brad nodded. “Good!”
“Wait!” Dwayne said. Had Brad really said two thousand dollars?
“You don’t want to risk it?” Brad said. “It’s okay if you don’t. I don’t nee
How often had Dwayne seen that face on Brad, his this is what you want, isn’t it? face? Brad Cunningham was a prime manipulator. He’d been that way from the start.
But Brad had opened a world that excited Dwayne like nothing else. To create on one’s feet, to collaborate with other artists on the stage, to make the words come alive, he loved it! He loved the experience of losing himself in a role. To perfect a performance. To live the story on stage as something new every single time.
Brad had been his ideal. He studied Brad. He watched how he moved with economy and grace. He had a slender, intelligent face with a pointy nose and active bright-blue eyes. He gestured with long, thin fingers that reminded Dwayne of Nosferatu. Working with Brad was both exhilarating and daunting. He inspired his young actors, but he also manipulated emotions in cruel ways. More than once Dwayne had comforted a fellow actor in tears after one of Brad’s workshops.
Nevertheless, Dwayne had done some of his finest work with him. He and Tom had both gone to Northwestern because of Brad. (Would they ever pay off their pricey student loans?) If Brad could get him into Foxx’s program, Dwayne might finally have a paying career. This could transform his life.
“You’d call Foxx right now?” Dwayne said.
“Right now.”
“But I have to gamble two thousand dollars?”
“I think that’s fair.” Brad pulled out his cell phone and waved it in the air. “If he likes you and your show, you don’t lose a thing. But if he asks why in God’s name I sent him to your horrible production, I collect the damages.”
“This is so exciting,” Tom said. He scrunched up his shoulders.
Sure, Tom was excited. It wasn’t his two grand. Dwayne had known Tom since they were freshmen in high school. When they first met, Dwayne had been put off by his over-sized personality. Tom’s hair was dyed in four different colors repeated in small clumps all over his head. He wore multitudes of beads, pendants, and jewels around his neck, and his clothing was thickly festooned with sew-on patches ranging from Smokey the Bear to Girl Scout merit badges to rainbows and unicorns to Peterbilt semi-trailer trucks. They became real friends later when Dwayne saw how talented and graceful Tom was—and how loyal.
Tom was his creative partner for the staging of Titus. He would choreograph and design the violence and play one of the roles. Tom and he had already been at work on the concept well before Dwayne knew there was a possibility of getting into the Emerging Directors program at the Public.
But two thousand dollars!
While Dwayne thought it over, the hostess led a family of four to a table toward the back. A little boy about six years old brought up the rear of the group. He stopped at their table and stared at Dwayne. Dwayne looked back at him, puzzled by the boy’s interest.
“You’re ugly,” the boy said. He turned and followed his family back to their table.
Dwayne looked at Tom. Tom patted his wrist. “You’re not, really,” he said.
One never knew what was going to happen. If Brad recommended him and the show went as well as he imagined, he could be directing shows at the Public the following season and continue building his career from there. The Public Theater in New York City, for the love of God. The holy temple that Joe Papp built. But Titus had to be more than good. It had to be brilliant!
And now Brad wanted him to wager two thousand dollars.
Should he risk it?
Dwayne had two thousand dollars in a special vacation account. It was the only savings he had. His wife Angela taught fifth grade in the Chicago Public Schools, and they lived almost exclusively on her salary, and she was sick of it. She was sick of Dwayne rehearsing at night because everyone had day jobs. She wanted to travel. She wanted the things that a two-income couple could afford. But Dwayne’s low income and their hefty debts held them back. He made pennies as a non-union actor and director. Sure, he did other work, but he was ashamed of how little he made laboring on-and-off as a bartender and as an office temp.
He wanted to surprise Angela with at least one thing she wanted. He’d been secretly stashing away bits of cash for four years in an account with six percent interest. He bought all his clothes used at resale shops and banked the difference. He was super careful in buying their groceries and stashed away the money he saved. He cancelled his health insurance and put what would have been his monthly premiums into the savings. He planned to surprise her with a trip to Italy. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face. She deserved a vacation in the land of her ancestors, and he was determined to take her there. He was so close to having enough.
But, Holy Mary and the Flaming Rockettes, this was his chance! Gregor Foxx! The Public Theater of New York City! This could catapult him to a real career. Hardly anybody made a living directing theatre in Chicago. You were always working on a shoestring for a joke of a stipend. To make a living you had to work in New York. You had to get union jobs. And if he could do that, maybe they could take regular trips to Europe. And get out of debt. And he could work in the daytime and be home in the evenings. They could have a full life. All the things they wanted together!
“Tick Tock,” Brad said, waving his phone.
Fucking Brad Cunningham. Idea stealer. Manipulator. After all they’d been through, Brad should give his recommendation for free. Putting up money was one more humiliation. Why the hell had Tom suggested it? He could wring his friend’s lanky neck.
“Come on!” Tom encouraged. “Titus Andronicus is going to be brilliant. Electric guitars. Stylized violence. You’ve got a great choreographer.” He smiled brightly and raised both hands. “Taa-daa!”
Dwayne did think it was going to be brilliant. Fuck! He wanted this so badly. If he lost the two grand and couldn’t take Angela to Italy, it would break his heart. How long would she put up with his starving artist bullshit? He was thirty years old, for god’s sake.
But the Public Theater had launched Brad. It also had launched Hair, A Chorus Line, Sticks and Bones, and had meant so much to so many careers: Coleen Dewhurst, Gregor Scott, Kevin Kline, Ntozake Shange, Marvin Hamlisch, Jose Rivera, Suzan-Lori Parks. This type of opportunity did not come twice.
Holy Cajetan, patron saint of gamblers, help me!
He had to take the chance.
“Call him,” Dwayne said.
Brad smiled and nodded. He flipped open his phone, selected a number, and put it to his ear. He grinned at the two friends as he heard someone answer.
“Hello, Gregor?” he said. “I have got a candidate for you…”
☐ ☐ ☐
Brad completed the call while they listened. Gregor Foxx would come to the opening night of Dwayne’s Titus Andronicus. The production would be Dwayne’s audition, followed by an interview. Then he’d be in or out.
“Have Tom put the money into an account within two weeks and send me a copy of the statement,” Brad said. “Otherwise, I tell Gregor you aren’t available, after all.” Brad smiled coldly, gave them a quick salute, and swept out the revolving doors to pick up his bags at the Palmer House and fly back to New York.
Dwayne felt his stomach twist. He opened his mouth and let out a painful burp. Why had he agreed to put up two thousand dollars? If he didn’t get in, he’d be doubly humiliated. He’d never be able to keep it a secret from Angela. Sure, he’d been able to keep it a secret while it was going to be a delightful surprise for her, but if he lost the money? He’d be morose, she’d see it, and she’d make him confess. It’d be all over.
Be cool. Be cool.
Tom gave him a brilliant smile. “I can tell you’re apprehensive, but I totally believe in you. My god, I could have two personal friends directing on Broadway! To audition for you two! What a dream!” Tom sprang his lanky self out of his seat and turned a quick and impressive pirouette in the restaurant aisle. Two women at an adjacent table laughed and applauded. He bowed. At six foot six, his gracefulness was especially impressive. He was as tall as Tommy Tune.
Dwayne slapped the table top. “Why in god’s name would you say five thousand dollars?”
Tom slid back into the booth. “That’s how much confidence I have.”
