Read Online The Confessions of Edward Day by Valerie Martin - Free Book Online Page B

with the speed and agility of jugglers. I spotted Teddy at the far end, looking glum, his chin resting in his hand, his eyes fixed on the glass in front of him as if he saw something alive inside it. I squeezed in beside him and said, “What’s wrong with that drink?”
    He looked up, smiling wistfully. “I fear it is empty.”
    “We’ll take care of that,” I said. “Let’s go sit at a table.” I signaled the bartender, pointing at Teddy’s glass, raised two fingers, and received a terse nod; he was on the case.
    “Are you drunk, Teddy?” I asked.
    “I have no way of knowing.”
    “Well, how many drinks have you had?”
    He glanced at the wall clock. “About two hours’ worth.”
    Two full glasses appeared and I lifted them carefully. Teddy got down from the stool and followed me to the table. “Well done,” he said. “I’m glad to see you. Where have you been all week?”
    “Working,” I said. “I’ve been killing myself working.”
    “Why would you do that?”
    “I need the money.”
    “Oh yes, they pay you.” Teddy sipped his drink, opening his eyes wide. He had an actor’s face, full of expression, long, pale, freckled, a weary drooping mouth, an aristocratic nose, pinched at the nostrils, hazel eyes rather round and flat, and a nimbus of curly red hair. He was slender, lithe, and quick on his feet, not handsome but appealing and wry. I knew a bit about his family—his banker father who wasn’t pleased about the acting ambition; his dramatic alcoholic mother (at thebeach house there was a painting of her, an English beauty with skin like a blushing rose); his ne’er-do-well older brother, Robert, who befriended thugs and gambled on anything that moved; and his talented younger sister, Moira, who was studying painting in London. He’d been to prep schools and then Yale Drama, his path strewn with privilege at every turning, but he was no dilettante. Money got him to the stage door, but only talent and dedication could get him onstage and he knew it. I sipped my whiskey, which was both smooth and potent, some brand known to the Ivy League and doubtless twice the price of the bar brand, but I didn’t care. I was in a funk about the whole business with Guy and I weighed the option of consulting with Teddy. As if he read my mind he announced, “Guy Margate got a job.”
    This news hit me like a blow and I dropped back in my chair, struggling to accommodate it and to take account of my emotions. There was a strong element of surprise—I hadn’t thought he would get the part—and a fair component of jealousy, mixed with deep resentment. Teddy watched me attentively, his chin resting in his hand, his eyebrows lifted. “How do you know this?” I said.
    “Mindy had it from Madeleine. Big celebration last night.”
    “Mindy was there?”
    “No, Madeleine called her and she called me. The celebration was just Madeleine and Guy; they had a date.”
    “Right,” I said.
    “It’s Playwrights Horizons.”
    “Right,” I said again. “Equity. What’s the play?”
    “Sunburn
I think it’s called. Or maybe
Sunstroke. Sunburst
.It takes place on a beach. It’s written by an Italian I never heard of.”
    “Guy plays an Italian.”
    “Presumably.”
    I reached for the whiskey and swallowed a big gulp.
    “It will keep him busy,” Teddy observed.
    “That’s true. And I won’t have to give him more money.”
    “You gave him money?”
    “Fifty bucks. He pretty much demanded it. That’s why I had to work so much this week, but I’ve made it up and first thing tomorrow I’m calling Madeleine.”
    “That’s the spirit,” Teddy said. We drank in silence for a few moments. The bar was emptying out. “It’ll probably flop,” Teddy added.
    “That’s true. And it will keep him off the streets for a couple of weeks at least.”
    “Also true.” We snickered companionably, but the likelihood that the play would fail was cold comfort against the dismal fact that stood before us: Guy