TBD on Ning
THE INTERVIEW
“I’m so glad you were able to speak with me.” Robert had set this appointment with a friend that he had been out of touch for quite a few years. Since the last time they had seen each other, Allan Perkins had become quite an important person in the theater circles. They had grown up together in the same street, went to the same schools, but had different interests. Even so, Allen was a happy-go-lucky guy. Always trying to help his friends and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. He decided to join the Drama Club and I leaned towards English literature so we stopped seeing each other as much. We would sometimes run into each other and stop to talk when we would change classes. I remember he came to my house to say goodbye because he was headed for a college out West and that’s when I lost sight of him.
I was a journalist for the Times now and he had just finished writing his latest play which became an instant hit on Broadway. I tried to get tickets but it was all sold out for weeks, so that’s when I decided to finally give him a call. After reminding him who I was, he was silent for a few seconds.
“Oh yes, you’re that kid I used to tease in high school because you never looked up from some book you had your nose in. I remember you walked down the halls of Evans Hi like that, and I would bump into you just to make you look up. Of course I remember you. So you want to interview me? Well, I’m really very busy now but how about some time next week? How about giving me a call then? We did have some good times if I recall correctly, didn’t we? The Times eh… sure why not. Just call me next week and we’ll get together Robert, right? “
Right then and there I saw that he had taken a turn in his character. I agreed to call him the following week and hung up the phone still thinking this interview would be shallow.
The week went by fast with so many other important things that I was reporting. What with the War in the Middle East escalating, I was busy getting information and writing stories. This is what I really wanted to do but my boss thought that since I had mentioned to him that I knew Allen Perkins he insisted on an article about him, being that he was the recent talk of the town. At first I hesitated but then something told me that if I didn’t do it, I wouldn’t be sent to India as a correspondent, which is what I really was aiming for. This would get me closer to the war zone. So the following week I made that call again.
“Sure Bobby. Come on over. As a matter of fact, if you can make it this afternoon, it will be better for me since I’m going on the road tomorrow to plug my new play.” His voice sounded quite cheerful.
Arriving at the Plaza where he was staying, I was ushered up to his suite and knocked at the door. There he stood in front of me. The same short man I had remembered twenty years earlier except for his brown hair with grey sideburns that had become quite sparse. He had added some pounds to his body also but stood erect not minding the bulge under his robe. Other than that, he was impeccably dressed. A blue silk robe covered his body to the knees and I could see the striped blue pants flowing below. Patent-leather slippers covered his feet and paisley silk scarf of many colors showed well position on his neck. He held out his hand and beckoned me to step inside.
“Well, well, Bobby. Long time no see, but good that we meet again after all those years. So you are a reporter now, eh?” he was talking as he beckoned to me with a wave of his arm to sit in one of the sofas.
“I’m a journalist.” I corrected him bluntly. Clearing my throat, I continued. “You’ve become quite the stir on Broadway. I guess those Drama classes you took must have helped you to catapult yourself to where you are now?”
“Oh no. I left the acting field long time ago and I never finished college. I really had a bad few years getting a job too. You don’t know the half of it, my friend. Things didn’t come as easy as you see them now.”
“You mean, you didn’t continue with the drama classes?”
“Well I did for a while but I also had taken some literature courses in college besides the acting ones, and then realized I wasn’t going to be such a good actor. So I quit. Then both my parents became ill and died six months of each other and I had to stop going to college and had to take care of my younger brother. This is off the record what I’m telling you right?” He looked at me with a stern face.
“Of course.” I answered. “So how did you decide to write plays?”
“Oh, that was a fluke. I decided to do some waitering at the Plaza hotel.” He smiled. “I had to do something. Had to take care of my brother. After all my acting would come in handy to get good tips so I applied and was accepted. I became quite good at it and the customers would ask for my services. Paid me handsomely too. This went on for a few years until my little brother grew up and finished college. Then one day I noticed my brother was writing in a notebook and I asked him what he was writing about. That’s when he told me he wrote stories. I began to read some of them and saw he had the talent for this. Maybe I could do the same thing but in a form for a play. That gave me the idea to cooperate with him and I told him that maybe the two of us could start something. With his ideas and the courses I had taken in college, we could do it. I knew that I could get one of the patrons of the arts at the Plaza to read them. They would always stop in after the theater to talk and criticize the plays that they had seen and I would always serve that table. “
“You mean to tell me that your brother was the writer?” I said in dismay.
“No, not really. It began that way but then I decided to try it myself and one night I showed a few scenes that I had written to Mr. Carson, who was one of the critics. He took it with him and promised to read it. I didn’t hear from him for weeks. Until finally he asked me one evening to come to his office. That’s how the whole thing began.” He leaned towards the side table and picked up a cigarette and lit it with the gold lighter next to him.
“So what happened with your brother?” I inquired.
“He’s my manager now. He’s branched out and now writes children’s stories and has been doing quite well.”
“Well, what would you want me to say then in my article about you, Allen? If I can’t say this, what else do you suggest?”
He looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “You can say that you came to meet an old friend that you hadn’t seen in years and came to congratulate him on his success. Also you can say that since we were such good friends, I gave you two tickets, front row seats, to go and see my play after we sat for hours talking of old times.”
That’s when I realized Allen had really not changed at all.
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