will be cast,” Richard ventured cautiously. “Of course I’m not the director.”
“You must tell me, Richard Abbott, if you intend to flirt with me—I don’t mean in our onstage roles,” Miss Frost said.
“No—not at all!” Richard cried. “I’m seriously flirting with Bill’s mom.”
“Very well, then—that’s the right answer,” she told him—once more ruffling my hair, but she kept talking to Richard. “And if it’s Hedda Gabler that we do, and I’m Hedda—well, the decision regarding your role is a more complicated one, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Richard said thoughtfully. “I hope, in the case of Hedda Gabler, I am not the dull, uncomprehending husband—I would hate to be George,” Richard said.
“Who wouldn’t hate to be George?” Miss Frost asked him.
“There’s the writer Hedda destroys,” Richard speculated. “I don’t put it past Nils to cast me as Eilert Løvborg.”
“You would be wrong for the part!” Miss Frost declared.
“That leaves Judge Brack,” Richard Abbott surmised.
“That might be fun,” Miss Frost told him. “I shoot myself to escape your clutches.”
“I could well imagine being destroyed by that,” Richard Abbott said, most graciously. They were acting, even now—I could tell—and they were not amateurs. My mother wouldn’t need to be doing much prompting in their cases; I didn’t imagine that Richard Abbott or Miss Frost would ever forget a line or misspeak a single word.
“I shall think about it and get back to you,” Miss Frost told Richard. There was a tall, narrow, dimly lit mirror in the foyer of the library, where a long row of coat hooks revealed a solitary raincoat—probably Miss Frost’s. She glanced at her hair in the mirror. “I’ve been considering longer hair,” she said, as if to her double.
“I imagine Hedda with somewhat longer hair,” Richard said.
“ Do you?” Miss Frost asked, but she was smiling at me again. “Just look at you, William,” she said suddenly. “Talk about ‘coming of age’—just look at this boy !” I must have blushed, or looked away—clutching those three coming-of-age novels to my heart.
M ISS F ROST CHOSE WELL . I would read Tom Jones, Wuthering Heights , and Jane Eyre —in that order—thus becoming, to my mom’s surprise, a reader. And what those novels taught me was that adventure was not confined to seafaring, with or without pirates. One could find considerable excitement by not escaping to science fiction or futuristic fantasies; it wasn’t necessary to read a Western or a romance novel in order to transport oneself. In reading, as in writing, all one needed—that is, inorder to have an utterly absorbing journey—was a believable but formidable relationship. What else, after all, did crushes—especially crushes on the wrong people—lead to?
“Well, Bill, let’s get you home so you can start reading,” Richard Abbott said that warm September evening, and—turning to Miss Frost, in the foyer of the library—he said (in a voice not his own) the last thing Judge Brack says to Hedda in act 4, “ ‘We shall get on capitally together, we two!’ ”
There would be two months of rehearsals for Hedda Gabler that fall, so I would become most familiar with that line—not to mention the last lines Hedda says, in response. She has already exited the stage, but—speaking offstage, loud and clear, as the stage directions say—Miss Frost (as Hedda) responds, “ ‘Yes, don’t you flatter yourself we will, Judge Brack? Now that you are the one cock in the basket—’ ” A shot is heard within, the stage directions then say.
Do I sincerely love that play, or did I adore it because Richard Abbott and Miss Frost brought it to life for me? Grandpa Harry was outstanding in a small role—that of George’s aunt Juliana, Miss Tesman—and my aunt Muriel was the needy comrade of Eilert Løvborg, Mrs. Elvsted.
“Well, that was some performance,” Richard
“You must tell me, Richard Abbott, if you intend to flirt with me—I don’t mean in our onstage roles,” Miss Frost said.
“No—not at all!” Richard cried. “I’m seriously flirting with Bill’s mom.”
“Very well, then—that’s the right answer,” she told him—once more ruffling my hair, but she kept talking to Richard. “And if it’s Hedda Gabler that we do, and I’m Hedda—well, the decision regarding your role is a more complicated one, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Richard said thoughtfully. “I hope, in the case of Hedda Gabler, I am not the dull, uncomprehending husband—I would hate to be George,” Richard said.
“Who wouldn’t hate to be George?” Miss Frost asked him.
“There’s the writer Hedda destroys,” Richard speculated. “I don’t put it past Nils to cast me as Eilert Løvborg.”
“You would be wrong for the part!” Miss Frost declared.
“That leaves Judge Brack,” Richard Abbott surmised.
“That might be fun,” Miss Frost told him. “I shoot myself to escape your clutches.”
“I could well imagine being destroyed by that,” Richard Abbott said, most graciously. They were acting, even now—I could tell—and they were not amateurs. My mother wouldn’t need to be doing much prompting in their cases; I didn’t imagine that Richard Abbott or Miss Frost would ever forget a line or misspeak a single word.
“I shall think about it and get back to you,” Miss Frost told Richard. There was a tall, narrow, dimly lit mirror in the foyer of the library, where a long row of coat hooks revealed a solitary raincoat—probably Miss Frost’s. She glanced at her hair in the mirror. “I’ve been considering longer hair,” she said, as if to her double.
“I imagine Hedda with somewhat longer hair,” Richard said.
“ Do you?” Miss Frost asked, but she was smiling at me again. “Just look at you, William,” she said suddenly. “Talk about ‘coming of age’—just look at this boy !” I must have blushed, or looked away—clutching those three coming-of-age novels to my heart.
M ISS F ROST CHOSE WELL . I would read Tom Jones, Wuthering Heights , and Jane Eyre —in that order—thus becoming, to my mom’s surprise, a reader. And what those novels taught me was that adventure was not confined to seafaring, with or without pirates. One could find considerable excitement by not escaping to science fiction or futuristic fantasies; it wasn’t necessary to read a Western or a romance novel in order to transport oneself. In reading, as in writing, all one needed—that is, inorder to have an utterly absorbing journey—was a believable but formidable relationship. What else, after all, did crushes—especially crushes on the wrong people—lead to?
“Well, Bill, let’s get you home so you can start reading,” Richard Abbott said that warm September evening, and—turning to Miss Frost, in the foyer of the library—he said (in a voice not his own) the last thing Judge Brack says to Hedda in act 4, “ ‘We shall get on capitally together, we two!’ ”
There would be two months of rehearsals for Hedda Gabler that fall, so I would become most familiar with that line—not to mention the last lines Hedda says, in response. She has already exited the stage, but—speaking offstage, loud and clear, as the stage directions say—Miss Frost (as Hedda) responds, “ ‘Yes, don’t you flatter yourself we will, Judge Brack? Now that you are the one cock in the basket—’ ” A shot is heard within, the stage directions then say.
Do I sincerely love that play, or did I adore it because Richard Abbott and Miss Frost brought it to life for me? Grandpa Harry was outstanding in a small role—that of George’s aunt Juliana, Miss Tesman—and my aunt Muriel was the needy comrade of Eilert Løvborg, Mrs. Elvsted.
“Well, that was some performance,” Richard
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