Never again

“Sometimes there’s happiness,” Miss Tandy said to Mr. Malden, “so quickly.”

“Okay,” Mr. Kazan said. “Excellent Miss Tandy, Mr. Malden. Let’s take fifteen.”

Aaron put his hand on Mr. Williams’s crotch. Of all the lovers he’d ever had, Mr. Williams was the liveliest. In the past week, he’d wondered, where’d he learn all those tricks? Must be something about the water in the South. Perhaps it was laced with gin. But he was enjoying it.

“Come to my office,” Mr. Williams said. “I want to be alone with you, boy.”

Aaron followed Mr. Williams downstage left, hand in hand, and off toward the back of the stage. He wondered if the others could see the bulges in their slacks – but who cared? Mr. Brando was hardly a prude, and the others just looked the other way at all the backstage antics.

“Excuse me, Mr. Aardvark,” Miss Tandy said. “I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Would you excuse me,” Aaron asked Mr. Williams. “Miss Daisy wants to speak with me.”

“Huh?” Mr. Williams asked.

Aaron shook his head. “Never mind, I’ll tell you later.”

Miss Tandy came right up to Aaron and eyeballed him. Goodness, she was much shorter than Aaron had thought possible. But of course, divas always projected a larger image than reality.

“I hear a rumor that I’ll be passed over for the movie version,” Miss Tandy said. “And I want to make sure that never, ever happens.”

“Well,” Aaron said. “I’m afraid it’s true. Vivien Leigh will play Blanche in the movie version and she’ll win an Academy Award.”

“But she’s already won an Academy Award,” Miss Tandy said, sighing like a horse. “And this is my role. Everyone says it’s going to be my breakthrough.”

“Now don’t you worry, Miss Tandy,” Aaron said. “Your turn will come. You’ll win four Tony awards, several Emmy awards, and your own Oscar.”

“What’s an Emmy award?”

“Oh, I forgot, they’re not starting until the early ‘50s. It’s for work in television.”

“Television? Don’t be silly. I’m a stage actress.”

“In any event, you’ll work in movies made for television and win several Emmy awards. And you’ll win an Oscar.”

“When?” Miss Tandy asked. “When will it be my turn?”

“In 1990, for a lovely movie named Driving Miss Daisy.”

“I’ll be eighty-one years old,” Miss Tandy said. “I have to wait forty-three more years?”

“Hey, you wanted the truth. May I be excused? Mr. Williams is waiting for me in his room.”

“Oh, go ahead, you big slut,” Miss Tandy said, frowning. “But I don’t want the truth, I want magic.”