59. Will
WILL
“So this is what New York City public schools look like inside,” Mom said, pausing to admire the bulletin board at the top of the stairs.
The interview was taking place in my classroom—the publicist’s idea—even though I hated using my students as props to bolster my image. But if I was going to get my ass handed to me, it might as well be in my classroom, where I was used to it.
Tiffany led us down the hall toward my old room, Miles close on her heels. As we passed the office, Mary appeared, brandishing a poster of my mother from an old Sports Illustrated centerfold. “Ms. Wells, it’s an honor to meet you. Would you mind signing this for me?”
Mom smiled and took the pen. “I’d be happy to.”
Mary rested a hand on my shoulder. “Look at you all dressed up. How’re you doing? They’ve been setting up in your room all morning.”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced a grin. “I’m all right.”
We continued down the hall and stopped just outside my classroom doorway. It was surreal seeing lights and cameras amongst the miniature furniture, my two lives smooshed together like a peanut butter and caviar sandwich.
Two chairs and a coffee table were set up in front of the bookshelf. Behind one chair, where I normally kept my basket of markers, stood the puppet stand. Behind the other was a fish tank—Tiffany’s fish tank, to be exact.
“You set my classroom up?” A few weeks ago, all the furniture had been piled in the center of the room. Now, aside from the film equipment, it was exactly as I’d left it in May.
Tiffany shrugged. “Someone had to help the new girl out. You should’ve seen how she had it set up. It was like a racetrack.”
It wasn’t time to start, so after a quick word with the producer, we waited in Tiffany’s classroom.
Miles busied himself building a block tower while Principal King arrived carrying tea and the basket of candy we passed around during staff meetings.
Her hair was freshly colored, and she wore a light-blue pantsuit, like a Hillary Clinton wannabe.
“William, aren’t you going to introduce me to your mother?” she asked.
Here were two people I never expected to be in the same room together. I wondered what was more likely, them bonding over their shared disappointment in me, or them duking it out like two betta fish trapped in a bowl.
“Mom, this is Principal King. Principal King, this is my mother, Donna.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mom said. “Your school is lovely.”
King surprised me with a smile. “Thank you. It’s even lovelier when the students are here.”
The producer stuck her head in the door, and I felt a fresh deluge of crotch sweat before she even opened her mouth to say, “We’re ready for you.”
Stewart Webber sat in the chair with the puppets behind him and left the fish backdrop for me. He wore a pinstriped suit and a solid red tie. His white hair was parted on the side, and his thin spectacles rested on the tip of his nose. Two giant mugs of water sat on the table before him.
“William, it’s good to see you.” He stood to shake my hand as I came in. The cameras were rolling, so I swallowed my nerves and smiled back. I was a performer, and this was a performance.
“Thanks for doing this.” I took my seat and drank from my mug like the publicist had told me to, like I was sitting down with a friend for coffee.
“Just so our audience is aware, we’re conducting this interview from your former classroom in the Bronx, where you taught kindergarten for five years. Is that correct?”
I set the mug back down. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Stewart sat up straighter in his chair. “But you recently resigned from your position. Why is that?”
I hadn’t been expecting this question so early, but I was prepared.
“I managed to keep a low profile for the past five years, but after I attended my brother’s bachelor party last spring, I found myself back in the press again, and I didn’t want to subject my students and colleagues to that sort of attention. ”
“So you’re saying it had nothing to do with the allegations that you’re a bit of a loose cannon and use physical intimidation to make your students behave?”
Jesus, what was Stewart trying to do? We were supposed to be talking about why I decided to take up teaching, not why I decided to quit.
My collar felt tight around my neck, but I resisted the urge to undo a button. “Actually, that’s exactly why I decided to leave. I didn’t want lies like that to make my students and their families uncomfortable.”
“So, you claim they are lies?” Stewart pulled his glasses from his face and leveled his gaze at me. “Why should your students and their families believe that? After all, you have a bit of a reputation.”
I could hear the publicist’s voice in the back of my head telling me not to get defensive, but that was easier said than done.
“I’ve always believed people should make informed decisions based on evidence, not reputation.
To my knowledge, no student, parent, or colleague has ever complained about my teaching style, which is not based on physical intimidation but on relationship-building.
If you’d like, my principal is just down the hall.
You can ask her yourself. I’m sure she’d tell you the truth, which is that I’m probably the least intimidating teacher at this school. ”
Stewart smiled. “That won’t be necessary.
” He put his glasses back on and flipped back in his notepad.
“Let’s start from the beginning. You were born into acting royalty.
Your father is one of the most celebrated actors alive today, with nine Academy Award nominations, and before him, your grandfather, Richard Chapman, won an Oscar for his performance in The Rabbit.
Your mother was an actress in her day, a Bond girl, and your brother is the star of the Hollow Point franchise.
But you’ve only been in one movie.” He paused to look at me expectantly.
“I’m sorry, are you asking me a question?” I didn’t mean to sound defensive. But come on, what the hell?
“I guess what I’m getting at”—Stewart cocked his head to the side in mock sympathy—“is that you must feel tremendous pressure to live up to your family’s legacy. But is that fair? Is it perhaps not time to let others shine?”
“Well, it’s certainly true that there are fewer roles than actors.
” I pulled gently at my pants and yanked them free from the cesspool of my ass crack.
Jesus, I’d been in one movie. It wasn’t like I was Meryl Streep, taking every good role for women over fifty.
“And I’m not going to sit here and pretend connections don’t matter, because they do, but—”
“It’s fitting you should bring up connections,” Stewart interrupted.
“Ten years ago, you starred in an independent film called The Beautiful, for which you won the Golden Globe for Best Actor. Back then, you claimed you auditioned for the role under a pseudonym because you didn’t want an unfair advantage. ”
There was a hook in this breadcrumb, wasn’t there? “Yes, that’s right. I auditioned under the name William Reid.”
“That’s interesting,”—Stewart glanced down at his pad—“because I heard from a reliable source that The Beautiful was the first movie your mother produced. Anonymously, of course. Might that explain why you were cast over scores of struggling actors awaiting their big breaks?”
I smiled to counter the smug look on his face. Our plan was backfiring spectacularly. What was going on? This wasn’t an interview. It was an inquisition. “That actually wouldn’t surprise me at all, but it’s news to me.”