Ike snorted, breaking into something of a laugh. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me twice. I think he would hate me. He’d sit there, and he’d say, Ike, you need to think of something very traumatic from your childhood and feel it. And I’d have to say, Uncle Konstantin, look, I turned my emotions off years ago. We’re up shit’s creek. But, please don’t tell Chekhov. He’ll be mad.” He laughed more heartily. “Hey, you’re right. You’re out there doing it. Which is more than a lot of people can say. And doing it successfully too. I figure all you need is the toolkit that works for you, and I imagine you have that. But I’ll be the first to admit: I love an actor who wonders why he should say something. You want to come up to me and say, hey, this line is stupid as shit, cut it, I’ll be like, you’re right. It’s trash. Let’s get rid of it. It’s gone.” He shook his head, still smiling. “It’s all hot air. I just say whatever dumb thing pops into my head. Lucky dreidel, though, huh? Now, my grandmother would tell you that, sure, you could abuse that and get rich, but then no one would like you. It’s more about the joy of the game than the chocolate.” He clicked his tongue playfully. “It was all very confusing in my house. We did everything and nothing all at once. It’s almost like my parents didn’t want to raise me in one particular way. And so, when I do die, no precautions have been taken.” He grinned. “Oh, absolutely. I’ll be very honest, though. I always get the Ed’s mixed up in that play. I’ll just root for whatever one you are. How’s it going?”
Even Ike’s laughter was a pleasing sound. Rory didn’t know what to do with that thought, but he knew he wanted to make Ike laugh more, just to hear it again. “I just think… if you need to dredge up personal trauma every time you have to play something serious on stage.. that’s a pretty fuckin’ miserable life, huh? Like… I get the act of getting immersed in your character… and really feeling their pain. But if I have to feel my pain, deeply and fully to get there? That’s… cruel and unusual punishment. Couldn’t be me.” There was that laugh again. Rory sighed, content. “I haven’t had much of the pleasure of working with playwrights, I have to admit. I mean in college, a little bit. But all of my professional work has been with ol’ William Shakespeare, and sometimes I think that man would be rolling around in his shallow grave, if he could see me now. Would be a dream to work with someone like you, though. I’d feel a different command of my character.” He grinned, a smirk gracing his lips. “I’m competitive, deep down. Could never want to give up my winning streak. And hey! I’m the nice Jewish boy who hasn’t been to synagogue since he was Bar Mitzvahed, so I can’t really be safe, either.” Another sip of his coffee, with eyes crinkling at the sides. “Edgar’s a hard one. Most think of his bastard brother, Edmund, with his whole Machiavellian complex, and all that. Edgar’s a bit more simplistic… yet he’s a brilliant supporting role. I’m deeply lucky… and the cast is dynamite. I’m way too lucky to be working like this.”
