Remembering a past that never was
One of the side-effects of our coronavirus existence, as we remain obediently in our homes with ordinary day-to-day life suspended, is that we have a lot more time to think. And with so much of the future uncertain, it’s natural that thoughts turn to the thing that is certain: i.e. the past. So it was that I found myself listing in chronological order every home (with precise address) that I have lived in since my birth more than six decades ago. There were twelve of them, in four countries. It was a diverting exercise, if somewhat pointless.
But then my thoughts turned elsewhere. Looking back on the long course of my life I recalled the single moment on the timeline, the one crucial turning point, which determined everything that came after. The fork in the road, as it were, where I made the choice to take one route instead of the other. Then I asked myself the question: what if I had gone the other way?
I have long known that everyone has these decisive, life-determining moments. Heck, I even wrote a book about this many years ago. It was called Dreams and Doorways: Turning Points in the Early Lives of Famous People, for which I interviewed nearly thirty public figures about the one decisive choice or occurrence that had shaped their future life.
Well, for me it all hinged on something seemingly very small and insignificant — laughably so: the question of whether or not I would go to a party given by an acquaintance, someone I barely knew. (The son of my Hungarian dentist, as you’re asking. I think he invited me out of politeness one day while I was attending his father’s surgery.) He was a nice enough fellow but I couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for his shindig.
At the age of 21 I was on the verge of leaving London and moving back to New York where I hoped to break into the theatre. I’d been saving my money for months. My ambition was to be an actress and as my attempts to get started had led me nowhere, I felt it was the wise course of action to head for Broadway. After all, I did have a few useful contacts in Manhattan. (I’d once had a meeting with Bob Fosse, no less, and he was very kind. But I gave him a first-person piece I’d recently had published in The Stage newspaper and was somewhat deflated when, after reading it, he advised me to stick with writing instead of pursuing an acting career. What on earth could he mean?)
My life at that point was about the theatre and the arts, and my head was already in the Big Apple. Why go to a party in London which would be peopled with dentists? But my parents encouraged me: “Get off the sofa — put on a nice dress!” and after a good deal of grumbling I got myself minimally dolled up and shuffled off to the bash.
And that was why I never went to New York and never pursued an acting career. Instead, I took Fosse’s advice to stick with writing. You see, I met somebody at that party (not a dentist, but a lawyer) and the following year we were married. So I remained in London and had English children… and yes, many years later I got divorced, as people often do, but I am still here, still writing, and now with English grandchildren. It’s been an English life.
What if I hadn’t gone to my dentist’s son’s party? What if I’d returned to New York at 21 as planned, carried on acting and had an American life? I don’t normally mull hypothetical questions, but with all this additional thinking time courtesy of coronavirus, I decided to give it some serious contemplation.
It is possible that, had I not been deflected from my original intentions, I really would have made it in the theatre. My name up in lights on Broadway! New York, New York, so good they named it twice… a helluva town… if I can make it there, etc etc. And from there it’s only a skip and a hop to Hollywood — the usual route for acting success.
But there’s the rub. Whether over there or over here, I would still have been composed of the same genes. I’d have had all the same character traits and instincts, the same merits and the same flaws. Wouldn’t my DNA have led me to making the same kinds of choices and decisions in my life in New York as they have in London? In which case it’s likely I’d have met someone and chucked in acting for writing, had kids, later got divorced, and all the rest. That is the probable scenario, I have concluded. So today instead of experiencing the coronavirus lockdown in my modest flat in north London, I’d be the same person experiencing it in a modest flat somewhere in Manhattan (or the Bronx — yikes).
The alternative scenario is that I became a star of stage and screen and am currently on lockdown in my Beverly Hills mansion and sending reassuring YouTube videos from my jacuzzi like Arnie Schwarzenegger. The idea makes me feel quite faint — I had to pour myself a big one.
