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The "Casting" of Wendy Holcomb (A Plane Tree in Provence) (Volume 4)

By Arlene Rains Graber

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The crowd jumped to their feet and applauded. Wendy Holcomb and the other actors gave a deep bow for the third time. Her broad smile reflected gratitude, but inside, the Euphoria team played polo against the Blues team. The lights came up, the curtain closed, and the moment was over.
“That’s a rap, folks,” the director bellowed. “Good job. See you tomorrow night.”
Wendy trudged to the dressing room she shared with four other actresses at the Ogunquit Playhouse and began removing her costume. With careful precision, she hung it on the hanger with her name on it. She stood back to make sure there weren’t any soiled spots, then zipped up the dress, and straightened it on the hanger musing that it would need a fresh cleaning before long. Turning she pulled out a sweat suit from her tote bag and slipped into it. Her heart was heavy. A small tornado stirred within her body as the Blues team won. She sat at the make-shift dressing table, and began removing her stage make-up. The procedure was robotic without emotion.
Suddenly, the door burst open and her friend, Vernie, rushed into the room spouting accolades over her performance. “Wendy, you were great. Loved the play, loved your performance, and loved the stage sets.”
Wendy whirled around, jumped up and hugged her friend, Vernie. “This is a wonderful surprise. Didn’t know you were coming, but so glad you’re here.” She peeked over Vernie’s shoulder, “Guess I was so focused on my character I didn’t see you in the audience. Did you really like it, and where’s that good-looking husband of yours?”
“Yes, I thought you were awesome, and no, Ralph had a meeting, so I decided to catch your show instead of sitting at home.”
“Why the long face, friend?” Vernie leaned down and gave her friend a shoulder hug.
“Long story and you don’t have time.”
Vernie straightened and stared at Wendy for a few moments. “We’d better talk, and this is no place to do it. You and I are off to Morts for some soul bearing. You don’t need make-up, just a sweater. Cool night outside.”
Wendy sighed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever would I do without you, Vernie?”
“Be sad and have no fun at all. Let’s get going.”
At Mort’s, Wendy and Vernie sank into a corner booth away from the noise of the after-theater crowd.
“Spill,” Vernie said. “What’s dragging that usual cheerful personality of yours down?”
Wendy gazed into space, then turned to her friend, eyes full of tears. “Jerry and I had a huge spat. Make that a hostile argument.”
The waitress arrived to take their order interrupting Wendy’s explanation. “What can I bring you, ladies?”
“A glass of champagne for me,” Vernie said.
“A double scotch for me,” Wendy snapped.
“You got it. Menus?”
“No, just keep the scotch flowing,” Wendy said, rubbing her temples with eyes closed.
“Hey, aren’t you an actress from Summer Theater? The middle sister?”
The question startled Wendy away from the crisis brewing within. She looked up and melted into a broad smile. “Yep, that’s me, and thanks for recognizing me.”
“I saw the play last Sunday afternoon. You’re good. How long have you been acting?”
“Long enough to ruin my home life,” Wendy murmured. “Forget that, I’m just having a bad week at home. You know, irritable husband, needy daughter, and trying to keep the house running smoothly.”
The waitress nodded. “I can only imagine. I have two small boys and with working here, my energy flow is sometimes zero. Be right back with those drinks.”
“Wait,” Vernie said, “why don’t you bring us a plate of bruschetta and an order of prawn skewers. We need nourishment, and I bet this lady hasn’t eaten today.”
“You got it and I’ll put a rush on it.” The waitress scribbled on her notepad and left.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Wendy placed a hand on Vernie’s wrist and squeezed it. “I haven’t shared much lately, but things are bumpy at home.”
“I’m ready and willing to listen. Might even offer advice if asked.”
After the drinks arrived, the two leaned back in the soft cushioned booth, and sipped their drinks.
Wendy broke the silence. “Jerry is becoming more moody by the day over my work schedule.” Wendy clutched her glass with both hands, her expression vacant. “Like me not ever being home on weekends, dead tired during the week, no social life whatsoever, and sex…a distant memory.” She took a gulp of scotch before continuing. “We are constantly arguing these days or sniping at each other with caustic remarks.”
Vernie fixed her eyes directly on Wendy’s. “So his complaints are based on your job?”
“Yes. Problem is, with my schedule I don’t have time to deal with it, so it’s gone on way too long.”
“What makes you think it’s your theater work and not some other underlying problem?”
“No question,” Wendy said, “it is definitely my work. Jerry asked me the other night how long I was going to play actress? Yes, he said PLAY,” she shrieked.
“So when you talk to each other about it, does he realize how valuable he and Amy are to you, but acting is important for your personal self esteem?”
“No. He’s all about himself. Why can’t I take off weekends and go hiking? Why don’t we have family outings anymore? Why am I so uninterested in sex these days? Why can’t we have our friends over anymore? Well, I’m on stage from Wednesday thru Sunday with two performances a day, so that only leaves Monday and Tuesdays, however they’re packed with rehearsals.” She stopped, took a drink, and said, “Honestly, Vernie, when I get home at midnight or later, I’m exhausted and sex is not on my mind.”
Wendy began to tear up again and rubbed her eyes. How could she make Vernie understand that after working so hard to get where she was, she didn’t want to quit? It wasn’t a normal job, like their friend Sarah who taught at the Art Institute, or writing all day like Vernie. Theater jobs require time away from home, and now that the Playhouse had extended the season to year-round productions, there was little down time. In fact, given the way things were going, she might be offered a part in several future productions.
“I have a thought, dear friend. Why don’t you see a counselor? Sometimes an outsider can offer suggestions that friends and relatives can’t. I’m here to listen, but you’re my sole interest, not Jerry, so I’m not sure I can be objective. I’ve watched you study and struggle to get where you are, and I’m proud of you.” Vernie took another drink and signaled the waitress for another round. “Is Amy aware conflict exists?”
“Afraid so. Last weekend when she was home from college, she hardly saw me, and spent most of her time with Jerry. The look in her eyes when she left was cold and angry, like I was the villain. She says she’s proud of my accomplishment and even raved over my performance when she attended the play last month, but this last time…well, she seemed indifferent.”
“Has Jerry mentioned a compromise that might work? Maybe taking off say a Monday and Tuesday to visit Amy at college, or an overnight camping trip for just the two of you? He owns his own business, so specific days off don’t really matter do they?”
Wendy shook her head and leaned forward to pick up a bruschetta. She took a bite delaying her response. A sip of scotch washed it down. “Well, my friend, I’m sure Jerry wouldn’t do that. He’s as wrapped up in his business as I am acting. CRAP! We’ve totally grown apart. We’re like those couples you read about in the gossip columns—irreconcilable differences.”
“It hasn’t gone that far, has it?” Vernie stared at Wendy. “Tell me this is just a bump in the road that can be smoothed out.”
“I wish I could, but I don’t see a solution. I mean, why he can’t delegate more of the work to his general manager is beyond me. Sometimes I’d like to trash or I guess the term is crash—that computer business of his, and I’m sure he’d like to do the same to my career. We’re at an impasse.”
Both women ate in silence before Vernie spoke again. “It’s interesting how we become so absorbed in our work we forget the simple pleasures of life, isn’t it?”
“What? Where did that come from? Are you saying I don’t take time to enjoy my life?”
Vernie threw her head back and laughed. “My dear friend, get that chip off your shoulder. It isn’t all about you. I was referring to me, and how easy it is to let work and projects take over. Sometimes, I get so involved in writing, I don’t want to do anything else. Like the other day when Baker was home from school and wanted me to go with her to the boutique for a new outfit to wear to a sorority event at college. I begged off because I couldn’t tear myself away from finishing a chapter in my new novel.”
Vernie paused and took a drink before continuing. “Wendy, I’ll never forget the expression of disappointment on her face. I could have kicked myself.”
“Did you reconsider and go, or let it drop,” Wendy asked?
“I let her go alone, but then my conscious got the best of me so I packed up and rushed to the boutique to join her. It was fun, and we had a real mother-daughter bond that day. But my work is different. I’m home during the day—you’re away. I don’t have anyone to answer to and can set my own work schedule. You have a director and cast members to please which spreads your attention thin. I don’t know what your answer is, my dear. We’re all different, and our circumstances are individually unique.”
Wendy shrugged. Vernie was caring and sweet, but could not begin to understand the drive that surged inside to see her name in lights. She couldn’t possibly grasp how excited Wendy had been when the casting director had told her he’d recommended her for a part in an off-Broadway play in New York City during the winter. No, Vernie was blessed with a wonderful marriage, two gorgeous daughters who had never given either parent cause for worry, and a second career as a successful writer. She was brilliant, sassy, and fun to be around, and Wendy was thrilled to have her as a friend. Friends remain through crisis after crisis—husbands sometimes don’t.
“I know, but thanks for letting me vent,” Wendy said. She yawned and gave her neck some stretches. “I’m beat. Let’s get the check and get me home to bed.”
* * *
Vernie drove home with thoughts of Wendy’s situation churning in her mind. She had a strong urge to tell Wendy to dial it back a notch and try for balance between work and home. But Wendy was one headstrong woman, and probably wouldn’t listen. Still, underneath that stubborn and determined exterior, she was a very caring and compassionate woman. Wendy smiled remembering the events of her France trip with four other women. How it was Wendy who was verbally critical of Rose when they first met, but also Wendy who became Rose’s biggest fan after she got to know her. It was Wendy who bullied Sarah when she found out Sarah was having an affair with the groundskeeper, but later cooled down, apologized, and helped her through the horrible trauma of guilt. Wendy had good solid values, even if she was stubborn and determined. Vernie stopped at a four-way and tapped her fist on the steering wheel saying aloud, “No, I should wait before telling her what I think, and let this play out. Once Wendy settles down and gives her problems a sound reasoning, she’ll find a solution that won’t hurt her family.”
Vernie turned into her driveway still trying to rationalize her friend’s behavior. According to Wendy, Jerry had said he disliked spending nights and weekends alone when she was at rehearsals or on stage, but for some reason, she was ignoring the statement. Vernie sighed and cut the car engine. She gathered her purse and headed for the house, telling herself to concentrate on the obvious. Wendy was one smart cookie, loved her husband, and would work this out to the good of everyone—at least she hoped so.

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