They’d been on the verge of rehearsals when Tony had shown his hand. Twelve years later Felix can still recall every syllable of that encounter.
The conversation had begun normally enough, at their regular Tuesday afternoon meeting. At these meetings Felix would present his list of errands for Tony to do, and Tony would update Felix on any items requiring his attention or signature. Usually there wouldn’t be many of these because Tony was so efficient he’d already have taken care of the truly important matters.
“Let’s make this short,” Felix had opened, as was his habit. He’d noted with distaste the pattern of alternating hares and tortoises on Tony’s red tie: an attempt at wittiness, no doubt. Tony had a taste—an increasingly foppish taste— for expensive bagatelles. “My list for today: number one, we need to replace the lighting guy, he’s not giving me what I need. Also, about the magic garment, we have to find—”
“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, Felix,” said Tony. He was wearing yet another dapper new suit; usually that meant a Board meeting. Felix had got into the habit of skipping these: the Chair, Lonnie Gordon, was a decent man but a paralyzing bore, and the rest of the Board was a bunch of rubber- stamping sock puppets. He didn’t waste much thought on them, however, because Tony had them well in line.
“Oh? What’s that?” Felix asked. Bad news usually meant a trivial letter of complaint from a disgruntled patron. Did Lear have to take off all his clothes?
Or it might be a dry-cleaning bill from a front-row theatregoer’s unwilling interactive participation in a splatter scene: Macbeth’s gore-drenched head flung too vigorously onto the stage, Gloucester’s gouged-out eyeball slipping from the grasp of its extractor, with vile jelly staining the floral silk print, so hard to get out.
Tony would handle such peevish plaints, and he’d handle them well—he’d
apply the appropriate dollop of apology mixed with smarm—but he liked to keep Felix in the loop in case of a close encounter of the unpleasant kind at the stage door. If criticized, Felix might overreact with a surplus of ripe adjectives, said Tony. Felix said his language was always appropriate to the occasion, and Tony said of course, but that was never good from a patron perspective. Also it could get into the papers.
“Unfortunately,” said Tony now. There was a pause. He had an odd expression on his face. It was not a smile: it was a downturned mouth with a smile underneath. Felix felt his neck hairs prickling. “Unfortunately,” said Tony at last in his suavest voice, “the Board has voted to terminate your contract. As Artistic Director.”
Now it was Felix’s turn to pause. “What?” he said. “This is a joke, right?”
They can’t do that, he was thinking. Without me, the whole Festival would go up in flames! The donors would flee, the actors would quit, the upscale restaurants and the gift shops and the bed-and-breakfasts would fold, and the town of Makeshiweg would sink back into the obscurity from which he’d been so skillfully plucking it, summer after summer, because what else did it have going for it besides a train-switching yard? Train-switching was not a theme. You couldn’t build a menu around train-switching.
“No,” said Tony. “I’m afraid it’s not a joke.” Another pause. Felix was staring at Tony, as if seeing him for the first time. “They feel you’re losing, you know, your edge.” Yet another pause. “I explained to them that you’ve been in shock, ever since your daughter…ever since your recent tragic loss, but that I was sure you’d pull out of it.” This was such a low blow that it left Felix breathless. How dare they use that as an excuse? “I tried everything I possibly could,” Tony added.
This was a lie. They both knew it. Lonnie Gordon, the Chair, would never have dreamed up a putsch like this, and the rest of the Board members were ciphers. Picked men, picked by Tony. And picked women, there were two of those. Tony’s recommendations, every single one.
“My edge?” Felix said. “My fucking edge?” Who had ever been edgier than him?
“Well, your contact with reality,” said Tony. “They think you have mental health issues. It’s understandable, I told them, in view of your…But they couldn’t see it. The animalskin cape was a bridge too far. They saw the sketches.
They say you’d have the animal rights activists down on us like a swarm of
hornets.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Felix. “Those aren’t real animals, they’re children’s toys!”
“As you must realize,” said Tony with condescending patience, “that isn’t the point. They look like animals. And the cape isn’t the only objection. They really draw the line at Caliban as a paraplegic, they say it’s way beyond bad taste.
People would think you’re making fun of disability. Some of them would walk out. Or get wheeled out: we do have a substantial number of…Our demographic is not the under-thirties.”
“Oh for cripes’ sake!” said Felix. “This is political correctness gone way out of control! It’s in the text, he’s misshapen! If anything, in this day and age Caliban is the favorite, everyone cheers for him, I’m just—”
“I understand, but the thing is,” said Tony, “we need to fill enough seats to justify the grants. The reviews of late have been…mixed. Especially last season.”
“Mixed?” said Felix. “The reviews last season were sensational!”
“I kept the bad ones away from you,” said Tony. “They were numerous. I have them here in my briefcase, if you’d care to take a look.”
“Why in hell did you do that?” said Felix. “Keep them away? I’m not an infant.”
“Bad reviews make you irritable,” said Tony. “Then you take it out on the staff. It’s bad for morale.”
“I am never irritable!” Felix shouted. Tony ignored this.
“Here’s the termination letter,” he said, drawing an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “The Board has voted you a retirement package, with thanks for your many years of service. I tried to make it larger.” There was a definite smirk.
Felix took the envelope. His first impulse was to rip it into shreds, but he was in some sense paralyzed. He’d had rows during his career, but he’d never been terminated before. Ejected! Tumbled out! Discarded! He felt numb all over. “But my Tempest,” he said. “That goes forward?” Already he was begging. “At least?” His best creation, his wondrous treasure, crushed. Trampled on the floor.
Erased.
“I’m afraid not,” said Tony. “We—they felt a clean break would be best. The production will be canceled. You’ll find the personal effects from your office out by your car. I’ll need your security pass, by the way. When you’re ready.”
“I’m taking this to the Heritage Minister,” Felix said weakly. He knew this was a non-starter. He’d gone to school with Sal O’Nally, they’d been rivals at the time. There had been a clash over a pencil-stealing incident that Felix had won and Sal had evidently not forgotten. He’d given it as his opinion—in several TV interviews aimed straight at Felix’s crotch—that the Makeshiweg Festival should be doing more Noël Coward comedies and Andrew Lloyd Webber, and other musicals. Not that Felix had anything against musicals, he’d started his theatrical career in a student production of Guys and Dolls, but a whole diet of musicals… The Sound of Music, said Sal. Cats. Crazy for You. Tap dancing. Things the ordinary person could understand. But the ordinary person could understand Felix’s approach perfectly well! What was so difficult about Macbeth done with chainsaws? Topical. Direct.
“In point of fact, the Heritage Minister is in full agreement,” said Tony.
“Naturally we ran our decision by Sal—by Minister O’Nally—before the final vote, to confirm that we were taking the right path. Sorry about this, Felix,” he added insincerely. “I know it’s a shock to you. And very difficult for all of us.”
“You’ll have a replacement in mind, I suppose,” said Felix, forcing his voice down to a reasonable level. Sal. First-name basis, then. So that’s how things stood. He would not lose his cool. He would salvage the rags of his dignity.
“Actually, yes,” said Tony. “Sal…The Board has asked, ah, me to take over.
In the interim, of course. Until a candidate of suitable caliber can be found.”
Interim, my ass, Felix thought. It was clear to him now. The secrecy, the sabotage. The snake-like subterfuge. The stupendous betrayal. Tony had been the instigator, he’d been the implementer start to finish. He’d waited until Felix had been at his most vulnerable and then he’d struck.
“You devious, twisted bastard,” he shouted, which was some satisfaction to him. Though a small one, considering everything.
