Acts of Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

them. “Nobody likes old women.”
    â€œWho told you that?”
    â€œI didn’t have to be told. I don’t like old women.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear it. Most audiences do, you know. How else would you explain Jessica Tandy and Ethel Barrymore and Constance Bernhardt?”
    â€œConstance— Your grandmother. That’s why you’re so hot for this play!”
    â€œLena does remind me of Constance. But that wouldn’t be enough. This is a terrific play, Monte, and you know it. It’s hard to believe that Kent wrote it—that he knows so much at his age—but somehow he got it all right: it’s a solid story with wonderful lines and the characters are absolutely true to—” He stopped as the buzzer on Gerhart’s desk sounded.
    â€œWell, the great playwright’s here,” Gerhart said. “We’ll see what he has to say.”
    â€œHe won’t like it,” Luke said flatly.
    There was a rush of air, as if a tornado had spun into the office. Kent Home was young, tall and thin and flamboyantly good-looking, with a shock of black hair, dark blue eyes magnified by wire-rimmed glasses and a long neck that made his head seem like a kind of beacon, swiveling to take in the world. He wore faded blue jeans, a belt with a silver-and-turquoise buckle and a white open-necked shirt, and he was talking before he was more than two steps inside the door. “I’ve got a great idea for act two, not a change really, but a terrific way to make Daniel look stronger a little earlier, we don’t have to wait quite so long to see what he’s really like inside. I’d thought of it earlier, actually, but—”
    â€œGood morning,” Monte said, standing behind his desk.
    Kent looked at his outstretched hand. “Pretty formal, Monte. I mean, we’re practically related, right? When you do a play . . .” He looked at Luke. “Hi.”
    â€œMonte thinks structure is a good thing,” Luke said, amused, and Kent shrugged and went to the desk to shake Monte’s hand.
    â€œGood morning,” he said, emphasizing the words. “Glad to see you looking so well. Glad to see everybody looking so well. God, it’s nice to be cool. I walked from my apartment and I could feel myself melting, starting with my feet and sinking into a puddle, like the Wicked Witch of the West—”
    â€œWe’re talking about rewriting Lena so she’s fifty,” Monte said, sitting down. “Better for audience identifica—”
    â€œFifty? Fifty years old instead of eighty-two? You’re not serious.”
    â€œIf we’re talking about it, we’re serious.”
    â€œYou can’t be. You’re out of your mind. Luke?” Kent turned to him. “You’re serious about this?”
    â€œI wouldn’t tolerate it.”
    â€œThen why the hell are we talking about it?”
    â€œBecause I want to,” Gerhart growled. He drew wide hips, curving them into mountainous thighs, then threw down his pen. “Listen, damn it, I’ve produced fifteen plays and twelve of them made money. Twelve! Four are still making money. That’s a hell of a record, and you know it, and I had something to say about every one of those plays. Just because I spent my time making money instead of going to college doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s wrong with the theater. You people talk to each other too much; you forget ordinary folks. And ordinary folks like young; they don’t like old.”
    â€œBullshit.” Kent had been prowling the room; now he stood in the center of it, legs apart. “The Magician is about Lena—Christ, Monte, you know this—who’s the real magician, the way she makes things happen between people, and it’s partly because of her age. I mean, you don’t have all that wisdom when you’re young.”
    â€œYou’re