Screening Room Read Online Free PDF

adorable,” said some guy who must have been with the modeling agency. “Louise, walk around for Mr. Lightman.”
    “There will be
children
in the theater,” said Watson Davis, a colleague of my father. “What do you think, Dick?”
    “Kids can see a little flesh,” the dog trainer said and winked approvingly at Louise.
    My father was about to render a verdict when the actress from the Little Theater, who for some reason was occupying Dad’s chair at his desk, began reading from a scene in her script: “I love you. It doesn’t matter to me what you are.”
    “It’s too soon for her to say something like that,” said Dad, who had tried his own hand at writing drama in college.
    “She’s been overwhelmed, conquered,” said the Little Theater actress. “Remember, this is no ordinary man.”
    “But your heroine is an ordinary woman,” said my father. He was in his element. In fact, he had already found a costume thatDracula could wear for the stage show, a black cape with a red lining, for rent at a little costume shop on South Highland.
    “Dick, what about this dress?” said Watson Davis in exasperation. Louise was still parading around the room with her breasts. Then came the sound of explosions. Dad’s office was right next to the balcony of the theater, and apparently a matinee was playing, a war movie, with bombs dropping.
    “I think after eight p.m. would be OK,” said my father. Mr. Davis nodded and scribbled in his notebook. London, the dog, took a pen from the desk and deposited it in Dad’s pocket. My father was sitting on a stool in the corner of the room. “Hello, London,” Dad said and held out his hand, expecting the dog to raise his paw and shake hands. Instead, the dog said: “Ello—o—o. Ow arrr yooo.”

Jew Tree
    In the 1950s, the social life of my parents and their circle of friends revolved around Ridgeway Country Club, on the eastern edge of Memphis. Weekends began on Friday mornings. All of the women would tramp off to the beauty parlor on East Poplar to have their hair and nails fixed. Sweating under the blow dryers, they gossiped about inadequate husbands, sassy children, and bathing suits they’d kill to be wearing if they could lose “a few pounds.” Then, in the warmer months, the Lightmans and Binswangers, the Lewises and Bogatins, the Schroffs and Rudners, would drive to the club in various cars packed with golf clubs, tennis rackets and bathing suits, evening dresses and jackets for the cocktail hour, and screaming kids, who could be conveniently deposited at the club camp. A great deal of alcohol was consumed, not all in the evening. It was not frowned upon to spend the entire day beneath a pool umbrella sipping gin and tonics. For the more energetic, the fairways and clay courts beckoned. After a vociferous round of golf, with husband-and-wife teams sniping at each other, the men sat around naked in their locker room, the mirrors steamy from hot showers, and discussed what was being prepared in the kitchens for supper. Everyone lied about their wood shots. Colognes and aftershave lotions perfumed the air, while slightly used towels, casually dropped on the floor by the dozens, were gathered up by Willie, a wiry black man with gold-capped front teeth. As each fellow leftthe locker room nattily dressed in sports shirt and slacks, Willie would say “Have a blessed day.” The women, in their quarters, fussed with their hair and carefully reapplied their makeup. In the evening, after the maids had come to collect the children, the crowd danced on the terrace, looking over their partners’ shoulders at the vast sleeping slopes of the golf course, silver in the moonlight.
    Mother, perhaps employing the same agilities that made her a splendid dancer, developed a graceful golf swing and was much sought after to complete a foursome. She never hit the ball far, but she hit it straight. She was certainly the best-dressed player on the links. A scrapbook photo shows her