Carpe Diem

2017

~Tom~

It’s a good feeling, finally getting home after months away. Even if you have to house train your puppy. “This is the door,” I said, grazing the wood with my own nails. “This is what you do when you need to use the garden, Bob.” My little brown cocker spaniel stared quizzically up at me. “You have no idea what I’m saying.” His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his tail began to wag. “That’s fine. No more shitting on the floors.”

I flopped, ungraceful and exhausted, onto the sofa. Bobby barked at me. I took my sock off and threw it across the living room. I could sacrifice a sock for a little peace and quiet. My phone rang. The sock died for nothing. “Yeah, hi?” I said as I pressed my phone to my ear.

“Tom!” It was the familiar voice of a man I hadn’t seen in quite a while. “I want to cast you in something. I figure we’re good enough friends by now that I can skip over your agent.”

“I mean, I’m sure he’s not terribly enthused by that, Ken,” I replied.

“Sue me,” Sir Kenneth Branagh joked. “You need to be in my production of The Taming of the Shrew.”

“Are you teasing?” I asked with a chuckle. “Am I not already playing Hamlet for you this autumn?”

“Me? Teasing? God, no. Never. I lack any sense of humor whatsoever.” Ken and I shared a laugh. “No, really, though. I want you as Petruchio.”

“I’m too old for Petruchio,” I said. “I’m too old for Romeo. I’m too old for Prince Charming of any sort. I’m still in shock that I’m not too old for Hamlet. Let me know when you’re producing Much Ado and I’ll be happy to play a middle-aged man in his last quest for love.”

“Tom,” Ken groaned, “you don’t get to complain about being old to someone considerably older. You know this.” I laughed again. “Just think about it. Keep it in mind. It’ll be after we start performing Hamlet, a few months after, in fact. Just a small production. You have a guaranteed role. Most of the cast will be relative unknowns, and I need someone to make ticket sales! Sleep on it and call me in the morning.”

“Of course, Ken. Thanks.”

“Yeah, you’re the first person I thought of, you know.” I smiled at this. “How’s Hollywood fame, by the way?”

“Messy and weird, and wonderful, magical, and totally bonkers, as always,” I laughed.

“Glad you’ve made it home safely again.”

“Me too. Thanks, Ken. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Brits say our goodbyes on the phone for a very long time. Sometimes longer than the conversation itself. Thankfully, this was not one of those times, and I was able to get off my phone and have a nap.

I slept for about an hour, then woke up to find my stomach growling. I could have cooked something. It would have been logical. Cooking at home is cheaper and healthier than eating out. But I was in my first week at home in what felt like an eternity. I shot off a text to Benedict, then retreated to my bedroom for a new pair of socks. He responded while I was tying my shoes, and we agreed on a place to meet for dinner. I pulled a lightweight jacket on and snatched my car keys off the hook by the door, scratched Bobby's ears, and set off on my way.

~

Ben was waiting for me, nursing a beer and studying the menu. "About time," he muttered. "I thought for sure I'd have to order for you." He flashed me a smile so I knew he was teasing. "You look tired."

"Just woke up," I said as I took the seat across from him at the table. "You could have ordered me a beer too, at least." I winked.

"Christ, it's as if you think I like you or something." We laughed. "It's good to have you back, boy."

"It's good to be back." I ordered my own drink and squinted at the menu in my hand. "Ken Branagh called me today," I said absently, skimming over the soup selection. "He wants me to play Petruchio. Can you believe it?"

"Sure," Ben replied. He took a gulp of his beer and wiped his mouth. "You have a certain boyish charm. Bet you'll have it when you're old. Why didn't he call me? I love that play."

"He said I'm his first choice. So I'm guessing you're probably next in line when I say I don't want to do it."

"You don't want to do it?"

"Nah." Our waiter set my pint down on the table in front of me and I took a sip. "Well, I mean, I'm not sure. I love The Taming of the Shrew. God knows I adore Shakespeare to the ends of the earth. I asked if he was certain I'm not getting too old to play Petruchio."

"Of course not!" Ben howled. "You're old, sure. You're not, like, Polonius old."

"Different play."

"Yeah, I know. But he was the first old Shakespearean fart I thought of." We placed our food order and finally made eye contact. "We both need to take advantage of roles like this while we can still get them, that's what I say about it."

"Brilliant, as always," I said. "So, you think I should take it while it's there?"

"Definitely! But if you don't, do me a favor?" I nodded. "Tell Ken to call me."