Page 52 - The Myth and the Moment

Afternoon

worst that’s happened is my clock-radio is gone. Maybe some spare
change I left lying around. The people who rob the people in my area
are looking for things instantly translatable into cash. They don’t turn
a place upside-down looking for manuscripts. Put that together with
Phil prying my address out of me this morning, and Phil’s past
history of lying, cheating, and stealing, and what do you get? Me, just
about to explode.”
“What do you mean about Phil’s past? I’ve known him as long as
you, and I don’t remember any dishonesty on his part—I mean, any
more than anyone else in his position.”
Is she kidding?
“Now look, Allison—goddamn it, Aestheria! You may have been
in a play or two he produced a long time ago, but you never had
direct business dealings with the guy. Am I right?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite so baldly, Nate. Phil and I share a circle of
friends and acquaintances, and through the years some of those
contacts have proved beneficial to both of us. But, no, you’re right,
no direct dealings.”
She’s so cool. But not cold. I’m boiling over. Got to take it easy.
“All right. Let me tell you about Phil Kolpak and the Blue Dharma
Theater. He was a drama-school drop-out with a small inheritance;
his one idea was to become an impresario, a big theatrical producer.
He knew there was no way he could break into the tight little world
of the legitimate stage in L.A. in the Fifties, so he figured his only
way to make it was to sponsor controversial beatnik plays that were
bound to get attention. You understand? He had a different agenda
than the rest of us, only we didn’t know it. He created the Blue
Dharma: rented the storefront, paid for the remodeling, hired the
actors and stage crew. And, of course, very carefully went through
the scripts submitted by an eager mob of young unknown
playwrights. I was one of those innocents. Two of my works had
already been presented on even smaller stages in Venice and
Hollywood, so my manuscripts had a modicum of polish and
stagecraft. Getting a production at the Blue Dharma was a logical
next step. I had a message and a way of dramatizing it. Phil asked to
see more of my work before he decided. I gave him everything I had,
mostly sketches I hadn’t begun to develop. Finally, he chose
Archimedes’ Lever. You know what happened next; you were part of it.

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