“I could have walked him offstage and driven him to the hospital.”
“Which would have bought him what, twenty minutes?” The lights were off and the moon was reflected in the lake. The moonlight spread across the clean white sheets of our bed. I had finally done the laundry the day before. “He didn’t start vomiting blood because he spent an extra twenty minutes onstage when he didn’t feel well. He started vomiting blood because he’s been an unrepentant drunk for his entire adult life.”
I shook my head, unwilling to relinquish my responsibility. “I should have made him stop. He shouldn’t have kept going.”
“He shouldn’t have kept going, you’re right about that, but it was his decision. You couldn’t have gotten that man off the stage with a crane.”
“Don’t,” I said quietly.
“Nothing against Uncle Wallace,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Nothing at all. But he was teaching you a lesson you’d be wise to learn: you can’t save them that won’t save themselves.”
And the thought of that stark reality, for whatever reason, was the thing that finally got me crying.
No one mentioned my poor performance in rehearsal the next day. They thought I was stiff and halting because Uncle Wallace had vomited blood all over me the night before, not because I’d been stiff and halting all along. Fool for Love only has four characters and really, only two, Mae and Eddie. Me and Duke. Pallace was my understudy again, and a guy named Nico was the swing for all three of the male parts. I wanted to go swimming at lunch. I wanted to stay under the water for as long as was possible. Cody, the director, came with us and I wished I’d worn the one--piece. He swam around behind me, telling me about the other Maes he’d seen over the years and how they’d played the part. He recited different lines in their voices so that I would have clear examples of how he wanted me to sound. I wanted to learn, I desperately wanted to be better, but all I could think of was what a good director Joe had been. When we were finished swimming and heading back to the theater, Cody said he was calling off rehearsal for the rest of the day.
“Just go,” he said. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
It was so shocking to me, so shaming, and still I was grateful.
Pallace gave me the keys to her Honda and I went back to my room to change. She couldn’t come with me because it was Cabaret night, and while it might have been nice if Duke had offered to ride along, we both knew Uncle Wallace wouldn’t care about seeing him.
“Which brings us to the subject of Lee,” Nell says over dinner.
“Wait, who’s Lee again?” Maisie asks.
Joe nods solemnly. “Who is Lee, indeed.”
“The understudy?” Emily scoops green beans onto her plate. “The rich guy?”
“The talentless, unprepared understudy,” Nell clarifies. “He’s like one of those crazed axe murderers who’s hiding in the basement. I’ve been waiting for him to reemerge this entire time.”
“Are you serious?” Maisie says. “Poor Uncle Wallace is in the hospital having practically bled to death on our mother and you’re thinking about the understudy?”
“He was something to think about,” Joe says.
“Stop it!” Emily says. “For all we know, Uncle Wallace is dead.”
Joe and I shake our heads in unison.
“What happened to him?” Maisie asks.
“Esophageal varices,” I say. “It’s a rupture in the vein that runs along the bottom of the esophagus. Truly, something you do not want to happen.”
“How do they fix it?” Maisie asks, and I know that before she goes to sleep tonight she will be looking up esophageal varices to see if it can happen to dogs, to pigs, to rabbits.
“They put something called a Blakemore tube down the throat. There’s a balloon on the end.” I stop myself. “Forget it. You don’t want to know.”
Emily puts down her fork.
“I don’t mean to be insensitive,” Nell says. “You know how glad I am that Uncle Wallace pulled through.”
“He only pulled through until the fall.” Just saying it makes me catch my breath. So many years ago! Dear, stupid, intractable Uncle Wallace.
“He had cirrhosis as well,” Joe says. “He didn’t stop drinking.”
“They put a balloon in his esophagus and he kept drinking?” Emily asks.
Joe and I nod as the girls sadly shake their heads.
“Was that his last performance?” Nell asks. “That night with you?”
Funny how we never know. Uncle Wallace didn’t go onstage thinking it would be his last night. When my last night came I didn’t know it either, my last time to play Emily, my last swim in the lake. “I guess it was, the shape he was in. He went home after he got out of the hospital, back to Chicago.”
“Nell’s right,” Emily says. “Tell us about Lee. You can finish up with Uncle Wallace later but I need a break if I’m going to eat dinner.”
Joe sighs, tents his fingers. “Talking about Uncle Wallace bleeding out onstage will ruin your dinner but talking about Lee will ruin mine.” He looks at me but I shrug. I’ve done most of the telling around here. If Joe is forced to reminisce about Lee, so be it.
“Okay,” he says. “First off, this wasn’t my problem. I had gotten the play to opening night. That was my contractual obligation. Lee was Gene’s problem now.”
“Whatever happened to Gene?” I ask.
“Children’s television,” Joe says. “Last I heard he’d made it to Sesame Street. Gene was a talented guy, but that didn’t mean he was up for Lee. He went to find Lee as soon as the ambulance pulled away. They were still mopping up the stage when Lee had gone back to his house. It must have been eleven o’clock at night by the time Gene got to Lee’s and started knocking on the door.”
“The only person in the company who left the theater was the understudy,” Nell says.
“That’s a bad sign,” Maisie says.
Their father nods. “Gene doesn’t stop knocking. That’s what I liked about Gene. He came across as very mild but he was tenacious. He’d been there maybe fifteen minutes when finally a light goes on upstairs.”
“Tell me he didn’t send his wife down.” I’ve never heard this part of the story.
“He sends his wife down.”
The girls do their unison groan.
“She opens the door six inches, tells Gene it’s late and Lee has gone to bed. He’s very tired after the performance.”
“He wasn’t in the performance!” Nell cries. I can see now that her dinner will be ruined as well.
“Gene tells her to please wake him up, tells her it’s important, a man is very sick. She wants to know if he’s dead, and when Gene says ‘No, Missus’—-” He looks at me again. “What was his last name?”
I can’t remember. I’ve blocked it. Joe nods. “Missus says if Uncle Wallace isn’t dead then Gene should call in the morning after ten. Gene tells her that Lee can just open the door at ten because he isn’t leaving.”