6
After being shown the state-of-the-art film studio where
Albert Bosch could do all of his work at no cost, he and Gina George were taken
on a week-long tour of their host region, accompanied by various members of the
culture commissioners staff, and sometimes by the commissioner himself.
They were shown
Catalonias natural beauties, her pristine except when they were overwhelmed
by tourist development beaches and wooded except when they were denuded by
forest fires mountains. All the damage was attributed to the dictatorship,
now mercifully gone.
They were shown
intact medieval villages as well as the historic centers of ancient cities,
unchanged for centuries except for the nondescript blocks of apartments that
surrounded them.
They were serenaded
by bands and singers performing folk music, entertained by dancers in colorful
costumes (one such costume was made specially for Gina to wear and to be
photographed in), plied with local wines and food delicacies, and taken
shopping for handicrafts at country fairs.
Back in Barcelona,
they were introduced to the head of the regional government (he was referred to
as our president and he addressed Albert as Monsieur Bosk), to the
architecture of Gaudí, and to Catalonias high culture: the national museums
of art, of ethnography, of archeology and the national theater. It was there
that they attended a performance of Shakespeares Cymbeline, featuring the regions leading actors, Mario Farga and
Sofia Marés. It had of course been Sofia Marés who, behind the scenes, had
helped set up the deal, but she had been too busy to meet with them before this
evening. She and Mario Farga were to have major parts in Albert and Ginas project.
Since the
performance was in Catalan, the guests were provided with texts of the English
original, and in the box in which they were seated the chairs had small lights
attached to their arms, to help with the reading. Albert Bosch had studied
English literature at the university and had a passing acquaintance with the
play, so that he followed the action on stage with the eyes of a director. Gina
George, on the other hand, read the text intently, trying to hear it inwardly
while following the character indications on the page, and only occasionally
looked up at the stage. The process was difficult for her, since her
familiarity with Shakespearean English was scant. While she had taken acting
classes with Barry Bergmans encouragement, Classical Theater was one she had
skipped. And so when Iachimo was removing the bracelet from the arm of the
sleeping Imogen played by Sofia Marés, who was very beautiful in a dark,
Mediterranean sort of way what Gina George in her minds ear heard him saying
was sin-kew-spotted for cinque-spotted and eye thee bottom of a cows lip for I th bottom of a cowslip. Feeling thoroughly lost in the
language, she laid down the book, took Alberts hand and began to watch the
action. The next scene had some pretty music and a song, and some funny mugging
by the actor playing Cloten. And in the following scene Posthumus, played by
Mario Farga, reappeared on stage. What a hunk! thought Gina George. It should
be fun working with him. She wondered if he and Sofia were an item.
After the show Albert, Gina, Mario, Sofia, the plays director who
was called Nacho and was to be Alberts assistant on the project and the
culture commissioner had drinks in a bar across the street from the theater.
From their demeanor private jokes, glances, pats on the cheek Gina deduced
that Mario and Sofia had once been lovers, but now were just friends. It should
be a nice project, she thought. Shed be working with Shakespearean actors!
Frank Bond and Melissa Milton didnt count; they had given it up when they
joined her world. Now she was on the other side!
Mario, Sofia and
Nacho spoke English much better than the commissioner, and one of them would
always make a point of translating any remark or joke that would be made in
Catalan. Their humor was earthier and franker than what might have passed in
supposedly polite society back home, and some of the jokes were really funny;
they might be good for comic relief in the movie. If she didnt remember them,
Albert would, for sure.
Nacho also
explained why the president had pronounced Albert Boschs surname the way he
did: Bosch, pronounced Bosk, was actually a common Catalan family name.
The next morning, while
Albert and Gina were drinking café con
leche at a sidewalk café, a somber-looking Margaret was putting plastic
sheets over unfinished canvasses in her studio. A Mozart mass was playing on
the tape player. Her suitcase had been packed the night before, shortly after
receiving the call from her stepfather; the suitcase was now standing in the
studios doorway, ready to be picked up. Margaret turned off the music, picked
up the suitcase, went out the door and locked it behind her. She then checked
the door of the house to make sure that it was locked, entered her car, and
drove off in the direction of the main highway that would take her to the
Geneva airport.
Theyre very nice, Albert
was saying.
Fabulous, she
said.
But not enough
money, he said. We need some other source.
Do you know anyone
in England? she asked.
Uh... he answered
with a laugh, Margarets stepfather.
I mean in the
business, she said, meaning business.
Well, theres my
distributor, Julian Burroughs, he said hesitantly, but I am not too hot in
England.
Well, Im very hot in England, she said with a
self-satisfied smile. Lets go make some phone calls.
By noon they were
on their way to London.
In the narrow-bodied plane,
Margaret was sitting in an aisle seat while a plump woman was in the window
seat, and the seat between them was empty. Shortly after takeoff, the woman
turned toward Margaret and spoke up with no preliminaries.
You look upset,
dear, she said with a distinctly American accent.
Yes, I am. My
mothers very ill.
Im sorry, the
plump woman said. Her tone was genuinely comforting.
Im sorry, too, said
Margaret. Ive never been terribly close to her. I left England when I was
twenty-two, shortly after my father died, and Ive seen her very little since.
You were close to
him, werent you? The insight surprised Margaret.
Yes, I was, she
said.
And now, the
woman went on, you want to reconnect with your mother to find your inner
child.
Do I? asked Margaret, puzzled.
We all do, dear.
Its what keeps us going.
The dialogue went
on in this vein longer than Margaret could endure.
Do you charge for
this? she asked, in a sharp tone but with a mitigating smile.
I suppose I
could, said the woman as she pulled a card out her purse and handed it to
Margaret, but I dont think Im licensed to practice on a plane, she added
with a laugh. Im just coming back from a conference in this fabulous
castle...
Oh yes, I heard
about it, Margaret interrupted her. I live near there.
I was the keynote
speaker, the woman said. Margaret was afraid that the woman would recite her
keynote speech right then and there, if only in summary form, and she felt the
need to change the subject.
Going to England,
are you? she asked.
No, just changing
flights to go home. Im from Seattle, just like this airplane, she said with a
very loud laugh. Forgive me, I get a lot of mileage out of that line. And she laughed again.
Uh, said
Margaret, this is an Airbus.
What? asked the
woman, perplexed.
This plane, said
Margaret. It isnt from Seattle.
Oh, said the
woman, trying unsuccessfully to hide her embarrassment by looking at her lap.
Forgive me, said Margaret. Its my inner
grownup.
For the rest of the
flight the two women sat in silence, reading.
As Albert Bosch and Gina
George were heading for the exit from Heathrow Terminal One, carrying lightweight
flight bags, Margaret was being met at another gate by a portly man in his
sixties.
Hello, Margaret,
he said.
Hello, Peter.
Wheres Albert?
the man asked.
Oh, hes in
California, or somewhere.
Youre no longer
together? Peter asked as they began to walk to the baggage claim.
No.
Is there anyone
else?
No, its just me
and my work.
You do take after
your father, Margaret. I remember running into him shortly after he and your
mother separated, before he got ill, and asking him that question, and thats
just what he answered, Its just me and my work.
I know, Peter,
she said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. Youve told me that before, and
I was just repeating it back to you.
In the taxi, Gina suddenly
shouted, Look! as she pointed at a cinema marquee they were passing. The
marquee read GINA GEORGE IN YOUNG WIFES TAIL.
They changed the
spelling a little, said Albert, laughing.
The English are
subtle like that, she said, laughing as well, arent they?
In the car driven by Peter,
Margaret asked,
Tell me honestly.
How long has she got?
Im not her
doctor, you know, he answered, just her husband.
But you are a
doctor. Is it a month? Two? Three?
Something like
that.
More?
Not bloody likely,
perhaps even less. But Im only a cardiologist.
I shant leave
before she goes, Margaret said firmly, and I need to arrange my life a bit.
Would you like
some studio space? Peter asked.
No. I cant work
here. You know that.
By the way, I saw
your show. Look, were just passing the gallery. She looked up to see the
sign: MARGARET BLACKWOOD / RECENT OILS.
Did you like it?
she asked, turning toward Peter. Had she instead continued to look outward, she
would have seen a taxi depositing Albert Bosch and a striking blonde at a
hotel.
You do take after
your father, you know, Peter said with a smile.
Albert Bosch and Gina
Georges trip had been arranged in great haste, but very efficiently Albert,
like any independent filmmaker, was a most efficient arranger and their
respective British distributors were waiting for them in the hotel bar. Gina
and her distributor who was actually Barry Bergmans distributor, Geoff
Scrivener greeted each other with effusive hugs and kisses, while Albert and
his distributor shook hands formally. They were both struck by the contrast,
and they smiled at each other.
Once again it was
Albert who dominated the conversation, and Gina could barely keep up. Money
talk had never been her thing she could always trust Barry.
It seemed to her,
however, that the conclusion was successful.
This is a splendid
opportunity to foster the art of cinema, Geoff was saying.
Yes, but we have
to think of the market, said Julian, Alberts distributor.
Were they kidding?
she wondered.
During this time, in the
backyard of a house in the Hollywood Hills, another hastily arranged meeting of
four people in the movie industry was taking place, but these people were
splashing about in the pool, naked in the California morning sun. This meeting
had been arranged by Barry Bergman to introduce Jenni Jarman and Lesli Lyman to
their co-star, Frank Bond. The night with Lesli had gone quite well; the girl
definitely had potential, as did the evident chemistry between Jenni and Frank.
Barry Bergman found that, for the first time, he had to fight against his
feelings. Not to worry, he said to himself, he would win.
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