Things I Never Told My Wife
True confessions of a Shakespearean actor
Chapter 9
LIFE IN MINNEAPOLIS was insane. We ran eight shows in rep over the course of the year and the theatre was dark during the summer. With both of our salaries combined, we were able to rent an apartment off Loring Park. We could walk to work, which was really good during the winter when the snow was eight feet deep. No, it wasn’t. It was thirty-three inches that fell in a span of two days. It was sad to see so many empty seats in the theatre those nights. People just couldn’t get there. Of course, the theatre made some kind of weather compensation and I guess everyone got to see the shows.
For CeeCee and me, we were like newlyweds in our first home. The apartment in Athens didn’t really count because we were in school. Now we were both paid working professionals. Poorly paid. In addition to our jobs—and mine was a lot more than forty hours a week—we ‘managed’ the apartment building, which meant we swept the halls and stairs once a week, shoveled the walks, and called the maintenance people if someone had a problem. It wasn’t too strenuous and got us half off on our monthly rent.
I kind of missed the cast parties and basically living together with the theatre department. But I was the youngest of a cast of professionals being given my first job and my Equity card, for which I paid a portion of my salary every month. There was not a chance I’d get a big role. I was ‘Man in a Blue Suit’, ‘Voices Off’, ‘Street Person’, and ‘Chorus’. I also understudied a speaking part in each show. Unlike all the other actors who were in half the shows, I had to be at rehearsal for every one. It paid off in the end as I was called upon as understudy to Bérenger in Ionesco’s Rhinoceros. I got bonus pay for a principal role and could put the part on my resumé as having played a lead at The Guthrie. But there was no cast party to celebrate. CeeCee and I caught a bus down Lyndale and had a late dinner at Rudolphs Bar-B-Que to celebrate.
Rudolphs was a place that was open later than the bars, so a lot of people who had been out stopped off for a late dinner—including a lot of people who were in or had attended a play. CeeCee and I had been to a number of community theatre performances, which were sometimes as good or better than the professionals. Everyone’s eyes were on Prince, quietly eating at a back table with two burly bodyguards blocking anyone who dared to approach but no one recognized me.
“Do you think you’d want children one day, Terry?” It was a conversation we’d had periodically over the past few years and it had developed into a bit of a fantasy game for us. One I happily played along with.
“I think you’d be a wonderful mother, CeeCee. There is no one I’d rather have children with.” We kissed and held our naked bodies together in bed. It was a hot night in Alexandria, Minnesota. I was thankful we had air conditioning and didn’t need to open a window to the incessant mosquitoes—jokingly called Minnesota’s State Bird. I’d landed a role in Plaza Suite in the summer stock Theatre l’Homme Dieu. I felt very thankful that I’d been asked back for a second season at The Guthrie in the fall.
“Do you? I think that would be so lovely. I was looking in the Sears catalog and there is a summer special on Ians. Would you like a son named Ian?” We kissed and I slid inside my lover and we slowly moved together.
“Ian sounds like a fine son for the first.”
“First? Have you already thought of collecting more?”
“Yes. Of course, I wouldn’t expect to get both at once, but I’ve often thought the Geoffrey model would make a fine son to carry on in his father’s steps as an actor.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. I could see if they have any twins. They are usually special order, you know. That would give us our first two in one delivery.”
“First two, CeeCee? Have you thought about more?”
“Well, I’ve always wanted an Aubrey.”
“Another boy? I was sure you would like a girl.”
“Oh, I do. I think Aubrey would make a perfectly fine name for a strong and independent girl. What do you think?”
“Well, you are right about that. I can almost see her now. Must be a redhead.”
“With a freckle for every soul she’s eaten,” CeeCee laughed.
“Truly, darling, when we are ready—when you are ready—I would love to start our family.” Our love making had sped up as we talked about the children of our fictional family. I was getting very close and CeeCee was breathing hard.
“If you leave a deposit, we could get started right away,” she panted. The deposit was quickly made and we closed the transaction with a kiss. I loved this woman with all my heart. I felt her sniffling against my chest.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“I know it’s just a dream and a fantasy but I feel like you really mean it. Do you, Terry?”
“I most certainly do. Over the past couple of years, I’ve grown to love our family as much as I love you. I’m looking forward to raising our children together.”
“Would you mind terribly if I add a fourth? I’ve always wanted a little girl named Michelle. My little Shelly. I dream about dressing her up, taking her to the playground, going shopping, teaching her to read. I think Michelle would be my favorite child.” I looked at CeeCee. She had never revealed this in our fantasies. I could see in a minute that when we adopted, the first child would be Michelle.
“If we are going to have a family, I think you should become Mrs. Reichert,” I whispered. CeeCee looked up at me with tears in her eyes.
“Do you mean that, Terry?”
“Will you marry me, Cheryl?”
“Yes! I will marry you. I will marry you and be your faithful wife and raise your children and cook meals for you and make sure you have clean underwear. I love you so much, Terry.”
“I love you, Cheryl. And other than being a faithful wife and raising our children, I release you from all those other duties. We can share them. When would you like to have the wedding?”
“Oh! Uh… I need time… to prepare… to invite people… My parents will want… Are you serious? How about after your season ends at the Guthrie in the spring? Is a June wedding too much of a cliché?”
“You will make a lovely June bride and we’ll take the summer off and just travel and make love all the time. That’s… ten months. Do you think you can have everything planned by then?”
“I need to call my mother!” CeeCee jumped out of bed and ran to the phone. I could see my deposit running down the inside of her leg. God, I loved that girl! I’d marry her. We’d adopt one or a dozen kids. However many she wanted and I could afford. I was getting a good raise at the Guthrie and was promised several roles in the next season, including Henry Tudor in Richard III. After that, it didn’t look like I’d have any difficulty returning to The Guthrie, but I’d received a few invitations to audition for other companies. I was seriously thinking about the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland. One of the Guthrie actors I was acquainted with had spent three summers there and planned to move there at the end of this season to become part of the permanent resident company performing in both Ashland and Portland. It sounded ideal.
“Mom says we should plan on June 21 because that’s the summer solstice,” CeeCee laughed.
“Darling, I’m yours to command.”
“She also suggested that was the longest day of the year, meaning that the night was the shortest night of the year—just in case I didn’t like it.” We both started laughing so hard we couldn’t hold it.
“What does she think we do in our spare time?” I asked.
“Play Scrabble, of course!” Laughter got us holding each other and that led to more celebration in bed. I just knew we’d have those four little kids before long.
That winter was exceptionally hard. Stepping up to speaking roles on the thrust stage at Guthrie meant just as much rehearsal time as I’d had learning to understudy so many parts the previous year. At least this year I was guaranteed stage time for my roles. But CeeCee wasn’t well.
After a brief trip back to Ohio at Christmas, she checked into Abbott Northwestern for a comprehensive battery of tests. The results weren’t good. The cancer she’d fought off as a teen was back. They planned to remove the entire uterus and this time there was no escaping an incision across her entire belly. I was by her side every minute I wasn’t on stage and an understudy took my role the day of her surgery. She woke from the surgery crying and I held her in my arms all night.
The prognosis wasn’t good. The surgeon had found traces of cancer spread to other abdominal organs, including her kidneys. Chemotherapy was started at once. All I could do was hold my precious love as her long blonde hair fell out again. As soon as my season ended on Memorial Day weekend, I flew CeeCee back to her parents’ house and sat with her. We dreamed about the children we’d adopt and the life we would have, but by then we both knew it would never happen. The cancer was aggressive and radiation and chemotherapy weren’t slowing it down.
“I’m afraid I’m not going to make it to our wedding, Terry.” I didn’t think I had any tears left, but I did. Suddenly it was CeeCee comforting me instead of the other way around. CeeCee pulled at the engagement ring on her hand. We’d shopped for it together and it was a beautiful pear-shaped diamond. The best I could afford. “Don’t bury this with me, Terry. Keep it. One day when you have a little girl, maybe you can put it in a pendant to give to her and I’ll keep living that way. Will you do that, Terry? For our little Michelle?”
“I’ll do it, sweetheart. Whatever you want I’ll do. But I don’t want anyone but you.”
“I couldn’t have asked for a better lover and companion and husband. We didn’t make it to the altar but we’ve been married for five years. The happiest years of my life. I love you, Terry, and I always will.”
I couldn’t say goodbye. I held her in my arms and I guess I lost some weight because I couldn’t eat. On the day we were supposed to get married, CeeCee passed from this life. I was twenty-five years old and didn’t want to live any longer.
Mom and Dad Connors were with me in CeeCee’s hospital room when she passed. We held each other and cried, both for the loss of Cheryl and for the relief from her suffering. I called my folks and they came to the hospital with Lisa. We all had a cry while we waited for all the stupid processing to be completed. It takes fucking forever to get someone declared dead and given into the care of parents. We were exhausted when we said our last goodbye as the guys from the funeral home loaded her onto a gurney.
“Terry, we’d like to have a pagan celebration of Cheryl’s life. I understand if you want a Christian burial. We won’t stand in the way,” Mr. Connors said. I didn’t know why they were even asking me. CeeCee and I had lived together for five years but without the piece of paper that was supposed to be issued that day I was unrelated and irrelevant.
“We’ve celebrated Solstice every winter since we first got together, Dad. Even if we couldn’t get here to celebrate with you, CeeCee always wanted us to mark the Solstice and tell what we were leaving behind and what we hoped for in the future. She’s always loved you and the way she grew up. She’d love it if you had a pagan celebration for her.”
My beloved CeeCee was cremated. I never saw her again after they took away the body. What was to see? Her parents, my parents and sister, and a host of people I’d met at various Solstice events, and others gathered at a farm out north of Van Wert. CeeCee’s dad couldn’t do the celebration but an old guy talked about the circle of life and how we were escorting our cherished sister into her next life. Then he did the strangest thing. He had four people stand back-to-back facing the four directions of the compass. He gave each a ball of variegated yarn. Everyone present took turns taking a ball of yarn around the circle, wrapping it around the other strands held by the four volunteers. This old guy—I never got his name—was taking strands of gold out of a box and weaving them into the thickening rope. I realized they were strands of CeeCee’s hair that had fallen out as she was treated. How I loved petting those silky locks. We made several passes around the circle until all the yarn was used and all the hair had been woven into it. Then he had two of the people stand holding the circle and had everyone step through it. I was given the urn with CeeCee’s ashes and took them through the braided circle.
“We accompany Cheryl Connors on the final journey of this life and welcome her into the next. Let us celebrate the joy she brought to us and wish her well on her journey.” Then he took the rope and after consulting with Mr. and Mrs. Connors, dropped it into the fire. He took the ashes and scattered them all around us. And suddenly, everything that was CeeCee was gone.
We were going to spend the summer traveling and playing. I’d been offered a position in the Oregon Shakespeare Festival to begin in Portland in September and move to Ashland in May. I left Indiana on the fourth of July and just wandered in my little Corvair across the country. I can’t even tell you where I went or what I did. I got in the car each morning and drove somewhere. When I got there, I set up a tent and went to sleep, dreaming of holding CeeCee in my arms.
And somehow I ended up in Oregon on Labor Day weekend and started a stint with the Festival that lasted almost ten years.
Here’s something about being an actor. People think they don’t feel anything when they are acting. It’s just a play. Au contraire. It is a life the actor has chosen to absorb as his own. When I played the Player King in the production of Hamlet they did, I wept real God-damned-fucking tears for Hecuba.
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann’d,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!
For Hecuba!
What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her?
Every performance was as if I were seeing CeeCee lost again. The flames consuming the rope with her hair braided into it. I felt it during every fucking performance.
There came a time when I only felt alive when I was on stage. The rest of my life was empty.
That’s when Rebecca came into my life.
She was a stage tech who came to work as an electrician and eventually to design lighting. She started in the Black Swan because no one wanted to do tech in the little black box and lighting was a nightmare with the structural support pole smack in the middle of the stage. But Rebecca took to the challenge and loved the experimental theatre. I had a good part in Hunting Cockroaches as the Polish writer with writer’s block. They put the goddam pole right in the middle of the bed I shared with ‘my wife,’ an out of work actress. Our dreams crawled out from under the bed.
“Somehow, when I see you on stage, I believe you really do have a block,” Rebecca said one night after the show. “Let me buy you a beer tonight. Tell me about what is really blocking you.” For a lighting technician, she made a hell of a good psych counselor. I told her about losing CeeCee and how difficult it was to let go. She said she understood and patted my hand.
We started meeting after shows and going out for a beer, ‘just to talk.’ And it stayed like that for the rest of the season. When I headed up to Portland for the winter season, I was sad to leave her behind. But that’s theatre, folks. After every show you meet up with a new cast and create a new world. I was inordinately pleased, though, when I got back to Ashland in May and she was there.
“I got a last-minute replacement slot to teach lighting at Berkeley last fall. They lost a professor on the day school started and I was available. Not a bad gig, but I’m not interested in teaching a college course again. I got back up here as soon as I could.”
“Hey let’s grab a bite tomorrow after the show and catch up,” I said.
“Sounds good to me. I’m back at the Swan. What are you doing?”
“First show is Peer Gynt at the Bowmer. I’m back with you for At Long Last Leo—apparently, they think I make a good frustrated writer—and then I’m at the Elizabethan for Henry V and The Comedy of Errors.”
“How the hell do you remember the lines for all of those?”
“Well, it’s smaller parts in the mainstage shows than what they give me in the experimental and I’m a quick study. But really, you know, I just walk into the theatre and step into the person I’m supposed to be. It’s kind of a relief.”
“You’re still mourning, aren’t you? What’s it been, three years?” Rebecca and I were having a burger at one of the late night establishments outside the theatre. It was the middle of July and even up here in the mountains we felt the heat. I pulled at my T-shirt.
“Yeah. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long. Before long, she’ll have been gone as long as we were together.”
“Have you started dating yet?”
“You mean other than our beers and burgers?” I laughed.
“Terry, seriously.” I looked at her. I hadn’t been with anyone since CeeCee died. Hell, now that I thought about it, it was six months before that when we last made love. Almost four years celibate. I just shook my head.
“I’m going to make you my project. You, mister, are going to revive yourself this summer or I’ll know the reason why.” I choked on my beer. That was a line right out of my mother’s book.
“Yes, ma’am. Just please be gentle. I’m still a little fragile.”
I know you’re probably thinking I got it on with Rebecca and married her. We lived happily ever after. Sorry. I was a project for Rebecca, not a lover. In fact, I met Rebecca’s lover the next weekend and she was just as nice as Rebecca was. Rebecca fixed me up with a couple of blind dates but nothing seemed to work out.
We were out one night after our shows. It was a particularly stressful night. There were missed cues, forgotten lines, and broken props. Jackie, Rebecca’s lover, worked in the props shop. I was really beat and was staring vacantly across the room.
“Earth to Terry. Come in, Terry.” Jackie started waving a hand in front of my face. I turned and looked at her. “Who got your attention that you spaced us out completely?” she laughed. Rebecca had turned around and followed my gaze across the bar.
“Daphne? Really? Daphne Costas is your type?” Rebecca asked. “I never would have guessed.”
“Daphne? Does anyone really have the name Daphne?” I laughed. Maybe a little too loud. Rebecca pointed in the direction I’d been looking and a woman had turned from the bar and was walking toward me. She looked like an elf. Don’t go thinking Galadriel. Think Santa’s workshop. I mean, she was cute as the dickens with short black hair, a little upturned nose, and cupid’s bow lips. And she was headed toward me with determination.
“Is something wrong with my name?”
“Um… uh… No. My friends just took me by surprise. I thought they were talking about a character in a play.” That didn’t help. The elf put her hands on her hips. Nice, shapely hips. Not that I noticed. “I mean… I didn’t mean to laugh at a real person’s name.” I was digging the hole deeper. “Can I make it up to you by buying you a drink?” I was hopeless. She smiled.
“I thought you’d never ask.” She sat down at the table with us and I flagged down a waitress to refill all our drinks. “Hi, Beck. Hi Jackie. How’s things?”
“Great. You want us to leave you two alone?” Rebecca grinned.
“Not yet. We’ll get to that later,” Daphne said.
And that was how I met my wife. But the rest is another story.
Except this. Four years later, Daphne delivered a perfectly beautiful baby girl. Our first child. I was awestruck. The little tyke was perfect and my heart flooded over when the nurse put her in my arms. I know babies don’t do this, but she smiled at me. Then she started making a little sucky face and I placed her gently on Daphne’s chest with its swollen mams. The little baby latched onto a nipple and started sucking vigorously even though Daphne’s milk hadn’t let down yet.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Daphne asked as she looked up at me.
“Really. I like it.” I bit my lip. Daphne’s grandmother passed away the year before. Daphne loved the old woman and we agreed to name our little girl after the one who was so important in Daphne’s life.
“Hello, baby Michelle. Mommy and Daddy love you and we’re going to make the best life we can for you. You are our precious little jewel,” Daphne said as she petted our baby.
CeeCee and I had dreamed of having a little girl named Michelle. Little Shelly. She dreamed about dressing her up, taking her to the playground, going shopping, teaching her to read. I thought Michelle would be my favorite child.
Of course, I never told my wife about that.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
