Chapter 5

Every one at some point in life will seek for a sign...a word, a glance, a song, an image...something which they will cross paths with, without expecting it, but will make sense immediately to the one who seeks an answer.

Six months had passed since the discovery of the harmonica, but the notes Terry played on that fateful morning, were still alive in his head. From that time since, the music and his memories of Candy were feeding off each other. The more he thought of her, the brighter the music got, and the more the music was playing in his head, she was becoming more real to him.

The thought of writing Candy a letter had become a fixation. There was not a day that passed in those six months he did not mused about it. But to put the words on paper, he dare not. Where to start, how to finish...not to think of whatever would be filling the space in the middle. How to write it, what to say, should he be romantic, should he be just friendly, mention of the past, pretend it never happened? Sometimes, he would get frustrated and draw a line to the whole thing but the thought had become like a worm, burying itself deeper in his mind.

He may have spoken the words of great poets, inhabited the souls of characters who could not be forgotten, their stories being blessed by the Muses themselves...but to pour what his heart wanted to say ten years now, he found it crushingly impossible.

Until the day of Hamlet's dress rehearsal...

The day was chock-a-block with the final preparations for the premiere for very early in the morning. Although by now, he managed to function with just a few hours sleep, that particular day when he left his apartment, he wished he had a couple more hours sleep. Nevertheless, he had to buckle up and go through the day. Good thing was that adrenaline had kicked in so he felt spirited. Jumped on his Kissel Speedster and set off for the theatre.

Not long after he was passing the theatre doors. They had the press junket in the morning so he had paid a little bit more attention to his appearance, looking quite the part of the matinee star in his charcoal stripped tweed three piece suit.

Most of the journalists of the big newspapers were already there. Politely he noded to some familiar faces on his way to backstage. It was known he didn't hold the press in high regard but after ten years in the limelight he could tolerate them better than before provided they did not delve into his private affairs. He had also instructed the troupe's secretary to keep an eye for any press fabrications. In the past, the moment anything of personal nature that involved him or Susanna was implied, his reaction was so immediate and downright frightening to hear his controlled rage on the other side of the phone demanding to pull down whichever was the offending article or else...he was known among the journos as the "hawk". Terry did not mind one bit and revelled in a sense to be regarded such a difficult person to be dealt with. It kept all those unwanted on a distance from him and gave him some freedom to choose with whom he would have dealings with, professional or otherwise.

"Ah! Terrence, you are here!", Robert said to him the moment he became aware he had arrived.

Terrence did not reply but opened the door to his dressing room and went in, with Robert following behind him.

"The press are here", Robert continued, business as usual.

He took off his jacket, placed it on the dresser chair.

"Good morning Robert", he replied as he was folding the sleeves of his shirt up.

Dealing with press was similar to digging trenches for him. But first he needed to take Robert's anxiety one notch down at least. He acted his usual hyperactive self in such situations. If Terry had to be honest, his boss had also good reasons to behave that way. He had not been a pillar of dependability before and his mood swings were so abrupt and off the charts, it was not unknown of him to storm off a press junket, cursing, if someone had set a foot wrong with a sensitive comment about how he and his fiancée had been leading their life. Never having actually married...a ten-year engagement had not been something usual after all. Nevertheless, a calm Robert would put him more at ease with his first press junket after a good couple of years at least.

He stopped and looked at Terry, realising he had come on too strong and took a step back. His face relaxed and he broke into a wide smile.

"Goodmorning my son!", he said with a calmer voice.

Terry pulled the gold chain watch out from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at it.

"9.30...I am on time, aren't I?", he said, raising one eyebrow.

"Oh! Yes, yes!", Robert exclaimed. He didn't want to wind Terry up the wrong way.

"I was just overexcited with the whole thing", he finally admitted and he plomped to an empty armchair with a loud sigh before taking a handkerchief out to pat his forehead, glowing with sweat.

"Don't sweat it Robert", Terry said with a calm voice, and patted him on the shoulder.

"We just have to take it easy, and it'll be over before we know it", he added and at the same time he was surprised with his own attitude. Usually he was more on edge with that kind of theatre responsibilities. Perhaps his absence for a year had mellowed him down. But if he wanted to dig even deeper, it was his preoccupation for the last six months with Candy which did not leave much room for pondering about his return to the bright lights of Broadway.

"If you say so Terrence...", Robert said and looked at the young man he had got to know for ten and more years now.

Despite his difficult character and the life hand he had been dealt with, not only with Susanna but with his mother also, the famous actress, Eleonor Baker, whom up till now still, no one knew she was his mother, he had come to understood Terry and think of him as close as he would think of a son if he had one. Not considering his natural and blindingly obvious talent in acting, underneath all the behavioural "spikes" Terry had placed between him and the outside world, he was a sensitive and good soul through and through.

"It is just...", he said, while watching Terry light a cigarette up, "I want everything to go smoothly...", he continued and paused as he got up and straightened his waistcoat.

"For you...son", he concluded and look at Terry straight in the eyes, revealing all the concern they were hiding behind.

Terry stared at Robert, blew the smoke out, before crushing the cigarette back in the ashtray. It was time to go, and things were turning to emotional. Robert at times had proved his rock, the fatherly advice he never had from his real but absent father and for that he was eternally grateful. But in times like this, he would prefer to keep the mush to a minimum. His return to a stage a year after Susanna's death, that alone, was enough emotional load to carry on that day. His eyes softened when they took in Robert's concerned face and he gave him a sincere confident smile.

"Everything will be smooth sailing...don't you worry Robert", he said and proceeded to the door.

"Scouts honour boss", he added while he turned back to look at him still standing in the dressing room, crossed his fingers and kissed them before his eyes smiled.

"Let's do this" were his final words before he went up the stage to sit on the long table that was set up for this occasion among his fellow thespians. Robert quickly prayed in silence and followed. The troupe complete faced the eager journalists sitting at the front stalls of the theatre.

As it was expected, most questions were involving Terry and how he was going to handle Hamlet's role.

Was it difficult to tackle such a demanding role after his long absence from the theatre?

"Yes, but I trust my mentor and good friend, Robert Hathaway, so I knew I was in good hands", he replied with a smile.

And your colleagues? How did they find your return to the stage?

"I think we all welcomed Terrence back. We are all professionals so we work as a team to make the end result the best it can get", Robert filled in, speaking for everyone.

And you Mr. Graham..., Margot Taylor from New York's "Daily News", given your recent loss, how did you deal with all the death toll in the play?

Robert bit his lip without realising. Felt his ears sweat.

Terry barely heard the question. His attention was caught by a girl's figure, going about on the upper circle. She must had been theatre staff, making sure the seats were alright, but her curly blond mane was distracting. Especially as he could not see her face. From behind however, he could swear the resemblance was uncanny. She wore this red dress uniform. His heart stirred. His head told him that he was close to hallucinating. He had to get back to reality. He brought his eyebrows together.

"What did you say?!", he asked, "Can you repeat the question?"

All the heads turned towards Margot and got ready for Terry's imminent blow.

I was just stating whether you had any concerns with the play's theme of death and loss, having suffered loss yourself recently.

He realised on the spot, this stupid woman was stirring the pot. But he kept himself in check.

"If I had not felt ready, I wouldn't commit to the play Ms. Taylor", "Loss as unfortunate and tragic as it may be, it is part of life and part of what makes us human, we all will experience it at some time"

Robert opened his eyes like saucers. Could not believe his ears. Had Terry changed? He wished hard that was the case.

Before everyone could breath a sigh of relief, she did not seem eager to step down.

And how did you deal with yours, may I ask, in that year you were absent from the limelight?

There was not even a statement from your part, in regards to Ms. Marlowe's passing.

Shimmering anger flashed inside his turquoise eyes. His stare looked like a brewing storm when he opened his mouth. He hated Margot Taylor. Her newspaper was yellow trash, and she had kept going like an unwanted flee, looking to suck blood in every chance, for ten years, pestering them about the lack of a wedding. Why on earth Mr. Graham never wed the girl he stood by and cared for. Was it her disability? Was he turned off by the missing leg? Why Ms. Marlowe was seeing a psychotherapist? Did she experience trauma from Mr. Graham's denial to give her his surname. After all they were an item for so long. His blood was boiling.

"Margot", he finally opened his mouth and his words were measured, "What I did and how I dealt and why I never spoke about my partner's death is not of your fu...",

"Miss Taylor, and forgive me for stepping in Terrence", Robert butted in the moment no one else seemed to be breathing, "I think I have expressed myself quite clearly that no questions of sensitive personal matters are allowed"

"As with everyone who experiences bereavement, I want to believe that journalists deal with the person in question, no matter how famous he may be, with the utmost respect and sensitivity"

"I would expect the journos of Daily News to follow the etiquette, unless I need to have a talk with your editor", he said sternly, and shuffled his papers, before turning his eyes to Terry who still looked like he wanted to pounce on her, snap her neck and be done with that trollop.

"Absolutely", Margot mumbled in the end fearing repercussions from her boss, disappointed however, she didn't manage to elicit a response from Terry, for which she was going to write about.

"Terrence Graham's sudden rage as he was quizzed about dealing with the loss of Miss Marlowe, his long standing fiancee who passed away a year and six months ago"

It would have been a bloody good headline, she thought to herself.

Instead she gave a half arsed apology and sat down. Terry made a mental note, to ban her forever from press junkets about the plays he was going to be involved in, in the future.

Press conference over. He went over and thanked Robert for stepping in to save the day. But it was Robert's turn to give Terry a big hug for which he was surprised.

"No, no, no", he said, "She was way out of line and up to the point I spoke, you had handled yourself beautifully Terrence"

"Could not be more proud", he concluded. Both men smiled to each other for averting a possible crisis with success.

Then the press photos.

"By the way Robert, who was that girl walking about the upper circle?", Terry asked his boss as they were heading for the final costume fittings and the make up before posing for the photographer.

"What girl?", he replied.

"The blonde curly one", Terry described her, "with the red uniform dress"

Robert stood still for a moment, thinking.

"Nope, I cannot remember Terry"

"Didn't even notice a girl"

"Are you sure you saw a girl?"

Terry nodded in response.

"My son, I have told you many times again, there are some herbal teas perfect for putting you to sleep"

Terry gave up. It wasn't that important. But he wondered indeed whether thinking about Candy had taken a step towards excessive. As he sat down to put his make up, dressed in all black, cape, tunic, thick tights and shoes, his eyes stared back at him through the mirror. He was lost again in memories.

There was an otherworldly beauty, both terrifying and haunting in Terry's physical portrayal of Hamlet. His eyes, the colour of tropical seas were even more piercing with the heavy eyeliner and charcoal eyeshadow around them. Pale skin, with pomegranate red lips and the black wig which came to chin length. The photographer said to him that he would expect no less than women to be delirious over the photos and men to be jealous of him. All that did not made any difference for him. He had known women's desire over him. He wasn't stupid, and he had learned what came with the career he chose to have. That is why, in the end, he had come to understand at least some part of it, Eleonor's refusal to admit in public that he was her son.

To be beautiful, mysterious and unattached was what put people on seats. Money in the tills. Talent sure, it was a prerequisite to make it but it was almost impossible to ignore the superficial part which was always to be connected with. Looks and availability. Did he not take advantage of the fact that women fought for just a glance from him, or a minute even of his attention, a smile? He did and did not feel the least guilty about it. But he never felt full of himself. He was who he was. And despite all the veneer, many others with seemingly less flashy careers or jobs or looks, may had the love of the woman they cared for, a family even, someone who completed them. And he did not. So looks for him? Pff, were a convenience perhaps, but nothing more.

They took the photos on the stage, with the rest of the actors, all dressed up. His eyes kept looking for the blond girl with the red dress but she was nowhere to be seen...

Photographs over and done with. There was some time available for lunch and rest before the final dressing rehearsal. It was not to be a closed doors dressing rehearsal. The press would be there, as well as a select few, handpicked by Robert himself, Terry was certain, based on their loyalty to the Stratford theatre company and the depth of their pockets.

He went back to his dressing room. Lit a cigarette, poured just a shot of whiskey and downed it straight. His eyes sparkled. He glanced at the pages of the play. There was no need to go through any of them. By now, he was Hamlet. Indeed, he had felt close to the man. Fortune and Fate had big roles in Shakespeare's plays. His life so far...could have been penned by the Bard himself...so whatever ordeals he was passing through, Terry could draw emotions from his own experiences to match Hamlet's psyche.

The drink relaxed him more than he wished. He wasn't hungry in particular but his eyelids were as heavy as planks. Stomped the cigarette and closed his eyes for a bit.

There in the darkness of his mind, he saw the blonde with the red dress. There was a lake, with waters as crystalline as a mirror. There was no noise in her steps. He shouted at her but no voice came out. Undisturbed she entered the lake, showing no reaction to the water nearing her waist.

"Ophelia!" , he heard his voice coming out from his lips, as urgent as the first cry from a newborn.

The girl did not respond.

"The fire of love always burns itself out, and nothing stays the way it began. Even a good thing can grow too big and die from its own excess. We should do what we intend to do right when we intend it, since our intentions are subject to as many weakenings and delays as there are words in the dictionary and accidents in life. And then all our "woulds" and "shoulds" are nothing but hot air."

Terry turned on the spot. It was Claudius talking with Laertes.

"Listen to the Bard, Terry", he heard a familiar voice, the one voice he would never forget.

He turned back to the girl. The water had come up to her neck. Two steps more and she disappeared.

"Candy", he shouted with all the strength in his lungs and launched forward.

His whole body was jolted forwards on the armchair and he opened his eyes in that instant. His face was cold and clammy. He felt disoriented for a few minutes. Shaken. He patted his face. Fixed his make up.

"Terry, you can do this", he said to himself, while staring at his mirror image and left the room.

The dress rehearsal started.

Terry had already been on the stage. Even from the initial scenes, it was obvious, his Hamlet was going to go down in the books as one of the classic performances that would be studied by thespians of the future generations.

Act 4 was underway.

He was watching from the wings. Lionel Adams and Maurice Cole, playing Claudius and Laertes were on the scene. A messenger would bring Hamlet's letter. The guy nervous as heck was pacing up and down a little further down from where Terry was standing. Going over and over the contents of the letter. Terry went closer and watched him for a few minutes. He was reminded of this ball of nerves he had been before thrown on the stage for the first time. Being confident reciting Romeo in the bedroom was a whole other experience from standing under bright lights, feeling being stripped down to your bare soul, under the watchful eyes of the director, the audience, your fellow actors, the weight of those inspired words...he smiled.

"High and Mighty one,

You know I've been set down naked, you might say, in your kingdom.

Tomorrow I'll beg permission to look into your kingly eyes, at which point I'll tell you the story (after first apologizing) of how I came back to Denmark so strangely and suddenly.

Hamlet"

The guy kept repeating the words of the letter, as if was in trance. He noticed Terry watching him and stopped. Face red like beetroot.

"Weird letter...isn't it?", he said sounding embarrassed.

"It's straight to the point", Terry said and smiled.

"Don't worry, you'll do great", he whispered to the young man as he got ready to enter the scene.

The rest of the play went on without a hitch. Terry was spellbinding. His performance lifted everyone else's up too. The moment the curtain went down, the audience went up on their feet, and clapped until their palms turned red. The premiere was set up to be a huge success. Robert was over the moon. Congratulated everyone, and everyone welcomed Terry back. Smiles everywhere and a feeling of euphoria.

Terry also had his spirits uplifted, despite the disturbing dream during the afternoon. He took a moment alone in the dressing room. As he took the make up off, he played everything in his mind, the whole day from the start till finish. Suddenly it was obvious. The theatre was alive with people talking, laughing, getting ready to go home. Big day tomorrow. But his mind on the other hand was as silent as an empty church. His face in the mirror was wet from sweat and excitement, his stare on fire.

Took the theatre's correspondence pad and his fountain pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. Drew a deep breath before his hand traced the words on the paper. Hamlet was straight to the point and so should he. There was no time to waste and he had wasted already more than enough.

"Candy

How are you?

... it's been a year.

I had been planning on getting back in touch after the year passed but another six months passed because of my indecision.

I have to tell you this and finally put out this mailing.

- I have not changed.

I do not know whether this letter will reach you or not, I wanted to make sure that you knew that.

T.G."

He looked at his words for a few minutes, as if he wanted to keep this instant in his memory forever. He drew another deep breath while he folded the paper. Slipped it into an envelope. Wrote with clear letters, Pony's home address. That was that. He got up, took his costume off and put his suit back on. With the envelope next to his heart, he switched off the lights and closed the door behind him.

A new day was about to dawn.