When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot - 4

By Robert Levin

But her obvious uneasiness with the situation in which she found herself would periodically surface. A couple of days later she wanted to know why more people didn't notarize me on the street.

"Really good actors," I said, "have the ability to be anonymous when they want to be, sometimes even invisible."

I remember that when I said this it made her giggle.

But even putting aside the considerable tensions caused by my charade (and the always frazzling necessity to invent places I was going to when I left the house for the car wash every day), living with Roger was nerve-racking all by itself — like being tuned to two radio stations at once in a room with the light bulb loose in its socket. Periods of incessant chatter, for instance, would suddenly be interrupted, often in mid-sentence, by a dead silence, as though her plug had been pulled from the wall. At such times she might become motionless as well. Although her eyes would remain open I couldn't be sure if she was actually conscious. In fact, on several occasions, I'd have been ready to believe she'd expired were it not for an odd clucking sound, the origin of which I was never able to locate, and something unattractive that she did with the muscles around her mouth.

Still, as enormous as the problems were, the moments of bliss I experienced in those first weeks more than compensated for them.

Spring was beginning and, celebrating its arrival, we did the things new lovers do when spring is upon them. We went to a windswept beach where we romped and frolicked in the sand. Locked in an embrace we rolled over and over down a steep hill in Central Park. In the evenings I washed her hair and she gleefully folded my penis into woodland animal shapes.

I'd have to say that, all things considered, life was pretty good.

Then it went bad.

Roger read in a newspaper that Hoffman was going to shoot a film somewhere in the Midwest and that he'd be on location for two weeks.

"Why didn't you push my head up?" she said, showing me the article.

Even though I'd known all along that such a development was inevitable, I was nonetheless shaken by this news. It took no small effort to collect myself sufficiently to say: "I was going to tell you, but I thought I'd wait until the last minute because I wasn't sure the part would work out and because I knew how painful a separation now will be for us. I didn't want to make you sad before I had to."

But she was happy. Clapping her hands she said, "I'm so glad to know you lastly clambered over your jaded salanjastiker hippodrome."

"Well," I said, " let's not get ahead of ourselves, it could be just a fleeting thing."

Needing a place to get lost for two weeks, and with nowhere else to go, it was left for me to seek accommodations at the car wash. And the night before I departed Roger helped me pack my things. When we were done she went to the kitchen and brought back a bottle of cheap champagne she'd concealed in the back of the refrigerator.

"This is a time for jubilating," she said, pulling the cork herself. Then, touching my glass with hers, she said, "Breakfast with eggs, Duster!"

When she stops and lets me up, she inspects the spot I’d left behind and smiles for a second time. Then she hands me clean sheets and tells me to make up the bed. She’s not going to sleep in my mess.

As you can imagine, the following days were either bad or worse than bad. Sleeping in various vehicles in a lot adjoining the wash, I showered and did my laundry standing behind cars on the conveyor belt. And missing her terribly, the fact that I couldn't call the apartment because I'd never been able to afford a phone was torture for me. I could only hope that she was okay.

Finally, mercifully, the two weeks were up and I went home.

Hearing my key in the lock, Roger came to the door with one of my "birds" perched on top of her head and holding another newspaper. Without a word, she shoved the paper at me before I'd even crossed the threshold. It was open to a story about Hoffman. Some kind of budget issue had arisen and production on his film had been suspended. During the hiatus Hoffman was staying in New York. The paper had been printed on the date he arrived.

He'd been here for a WEEK!

Putting the paper down I met her eyes and saw that they were red and swollen.

"Where were you?" she said. " A whole plus seven - and twenty-four as well."

When I had no quick answer she said, "You're doing an exquisite triathlon, isn't it?"

You will appreciate that, as heart wrenching as her question was, my principle emotion at that moment was relief.

"Darling, Darling," I said, "No way. There's no way I would ever betray you like that. No, I'm not having an illicit liaison. How could you think such a thing? I'm playing an unhappy man and to stay in character I deprived myself of your company - for as long as I could bear it anyway. It's just a coincidence that it was exactly one week.

Roger stepped toward me and buried her face in my abdomen.

"I was frightful," she said.

She was trembling and so was I. We stood holding each other for a very long time.

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When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot - 4

By Robert Levin