Page 36 of Rhymes with Metaphor
R eg looked after Joel while his foot healed.
Because Joel couldn’t put any weight on his foot for the first while after it was done, Reg would drop him off at M.
House each morning and collect him in the afternoon when he was finished, then drive him to the studio where the audio play was being recorded.
According to Joel, participating in the audio play was much less taxing, as he didn’t have to voice all of the dialog.
He found the experience much more enjoyable than reading a book aloud.
He enjoyed it so much that he made an announcement after the play had concluded, at a late lunch he and Reg were eating to celebrate.
Once the server had delivered their food and left the table, Joel said, with exaggerated casualness, “I’ve found my Maxibon.”
“What?”
“I want to be an actor.”
“You already are, in a sense.”
“No,” said Joel. “I want to formally train to be an actor.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Joel. “I’ve been thinking about it since I read your poems at the Old Mill. Then when you got me a part in this play, I knew that’s what was right for me. But I don’t want to just do audio plays. I want to do stage acting too.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“Apply to Juilliard,” said Joel, setting down his fork.
“There’s a ‘but’ in there.”
“It’s expensive. I had a full scholarship for pre-med, but I lost that when I dropped out. Technically, I have some money—I got part of the life insurance settlement when my dad died, but...”
“Yes?”
“Technically, it’s my dad’s money, and he wanted me to be a doctor.”
“Wouldn’t he want you to be happy?”
“Even if I told myself that, the money’s in trust till I turn twenty-one, and I don’t know if it’ll be enough to cover everything.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“It’s a lot of money, Reg. I don’t know if I’ll ever make enough as an actor pay you back.”
“Your idea of a lot of money and mine are quite different, I think. And it would be a gift, not a loan.”
Joel named the figure. “That’s tuition for the whole four years, and it doesn’t include living expenses—in New York City.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
Joel stared at him, misty-eyed. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I care about you. Obviously.”
“But I haven’t done anything to deserve it,” said Joel.
“You deserve it by virtue of being you, cariad. Go. Apply. And don’t worry about the money.”
“I don’t know what to say,” said Joel.
“Thanks?”
“‘Thanks’ doesn’t cover it.”
Later, Reg asked Joel if he needed help with his application, but Joel insisted on writing his essay himself, though he had Reg check the draft to see if it read well. And he asked Reg to help him choose a photograph of himself to submit from the hundreds Reg had taken of him in England.
“I’m trying to be objective,” said Joel, poring over them.
“Well, don’t. There’s nothing objective about this.”
“You know,” said Joel, “when you had me dress up in these costumes and pose for you, you were training me to be an actor, like you knew I was going to be one.”
“Or I just wanted to look at you in all these costumes because you’re beautiful in every aspect, and I wanted to capture that.”
“I’m not beautiful, Reg,” said Joel. “Not by any objective measure.”
“I’m not sure that kind of modesty will carry you far as an actor.”
“Did you think I was handsome when you first met me?” said Joel.
“I thought you were an untapped well of sexual promise.”
Joel laughed. “No, really. Did you?”
“Good lord, no. But you’ve changed drastically since then.”
“So have you.”
“Did you think I was handsome?”
“I didn’t really notice what you looked like. I was so burned out from studying, and I just wanted my ginger ale. But now, I think you’re incredible.” Joel smiled and kissed Reg.
By the time Joel pulled back, Reg had Joel’s shirt half unbuttoned.
“So, which one would you pick?” said Joel.
“This.” Reg selected a photo of Joel dressed in a hunting jacket, holding Reg’s grandfather’s old rifle, and looking off into the distance with a wistful expression.
Joel submitted his application and sat back in his chair. “All I have left to do is prepare for the audition, and that doesn’t happen until January. It’s out of my hands now.”
“I think I can find a way to distract you,” said Reg and continued unbuttoning Joel’s shirt.
The next day, Joel was back to narrating audiobooks, and he was cast in another short audio play off the back of a recommendation from the director of the last play. Life fell into a calm, purposeful rhythm.
Reg spent his days at Flat Mary’s place listening to various musical interpretations of his poems. Flat Mary asked Reg if he could sing so he could lay down a vocal track for one of the poems.
“You’ve got a deep, intense voice, man,” said Flat Mary.
“I’ve been informed by my primary school music teacher that I couldn’t hit a note with a sledgehammer,” said Reg.
“I can correct your pitch,” said Flat Mary.
“I know someone who’s got a naturally good voice,” said Reg, remembering Joel singing in the bathtub in Wales.
“Can you bring him in?” said Flat Mary.
“I’ll sound him on the idea.”
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“D o you want to sing for this album?” said Reg.
“I don’t know if I’m good enough,” said Joel. “I might get asked to for the Juilliard audition, so I guess it would be good to find out.”
They scheduled the session on Joel’s weekend off between audiobook jobs, as he refused to do any other professional voice work on a day he was reading.
“Do you want me to drop you at Flat Mary’s and collect you when you’re done?”
“Don’t you want to be there?” said Joel.
“You’d feel self-conscious.”
“Not about my voice,” said Joel.
Flat Mary’s verdict was: “He’s got the pipes, but he doesn’t know how to use them yet.”
Reg had never seen Joel at work before. Of course, he took direction well.
Reg knew that from photographing him in England, but what surprised Reg was how, if Joel didn’t understand why Flat Mary wanted him to do a particular thing in a particular way, he always asked.
Not to challenge Flat Mary’s authority but out of genuine curiosity.
After a four-hour session, he told Joel he had enough to work with and sent him home with Reg.
“That could give your name a little boost,” said Reg. “Do you want to be famous?”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“Consider the implications. Being recognized, idolized, waylaid in public by admirers.”
“So, you don’t want to share me with anyone.”
“It’s for you to decide who’s allowed to enjoy your company. I don’t own you, Joel.”
“I have your mark branded on me,” said Joel.
“What a distressing way of putting it.”
“You’re the one who put it on me,” said Joel.
“It was never meant to be permanent.”
“You keep saying that,” said Joel reproachfully, gazing through the window.