Showdown at the Alcove

+ http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/11/magazine/11lives-t.html

Lives
Showdown at the Alcove

By ROBERT B. PARKER
Published: November 11, 2007

We were standing in the eager ruckus of the entryway at Grill 23 in Boston, waiting to have dinner with Ed Harris.

"Why not wait upstairs?" I said. "At our table?"

"It's not courteous," Joan, my wife, said.

"I know," I said. "But I could get a jump on the Scotch."

"Besides, he's a movie star," Joan said, "and we need to shield him as best we can from, you know, adulation."

I had written a novel, a western called "Appaloosa," about two gunmen, Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch, who come to free a town from its thrall to a thuggish rancher. Cole is the marshal, as he has been in many towns. Hitch, once of West Point, is his deputy and friend. One day my agent called and said that Ed Harris wanted to make a movie out of it. Being an old hand at the Hollywood game, I said something insightful like "Holy mackerel."

In my opinion Ed Harris is one of the best actors now working, and from a distance he always struck me as a man who paid little attention to guff, so I was honored by his interest.

"They're not paying much up front," my agent said.

"What are the other offers?" I said.

"There are no other offers," my agent said.

"Then let's accept this one," I said.

All of a sudden there he was, wearing a baseball cap, looking so much like an ordinary Boston guy that nobody paid much attention. We greeted, we went upstairs, we sat in our quiet alcove. Joan maneuvered Ed to the inside, so that we could protect him from intrusive fans. We had a drink. Joan would later remark that Ed had a beautiful face. I wasn't prepared to go that far. But it was certainly a strong face, and the eyes certainly penetrated.

I have always thought that our vision of "the West" was established by the movies. In its full context, it may not have been invented by filmmakers (we can give some credit to Fenimore Cooper and some, probably, to Malory), but it was developed and propagated by them. The core virtues of the western are, I think, will, courage and self-control in a landscape of infinite possibility. These virtues seemed to coalesce in Ed Harris's presence. He began to morph into Virgil Cole.

In my imagination Virgil Cole seems always comfortable in the pace of things. In his movements there is a kind of balletic containment. He doesn't seem to be very fast. But he always manages to shoot faster than the man he's facing. He is a man who knows what he can do and is always prepared to do it, as if everything he does has been long since thought out. And the kinetic precision of his ability grows from this well of certitude.

I found myself beginning to treat Ed as if he were Virgil Cole, which is to say, carefully. I found myself believing what he said. Joanie and I have been messing (I think that's the right word) around in Hollywood for more than 30 years, and we have long since learned never to believe anybody.

We ordered a second round of drinks.

"Financing?" I said. "Distribution?"

"We're working on it," Ed said. "We'll get it."

I believed him. Why wouldn't I? He was Virgil Cole.

"Who'll direct?" I said.

"I guess I will," Ed said. "How much do you want to do with the project?"

I shook my head. "Movies are collaborative," I said. "I'm not a collaborative guy."

Ed smiled. "I had that sense," he said.

Of course he did. He understood what he needed to understand, intuitively and without pretense. Like Cole.

It was quite odd. Here I was having dinner with a guy I'd made up. A guy who in his person, in ways I'm not even sure I understand, incorporated the crucial qualities of the person he was going to play. He was not a killer of men, as Virgil Cole was. That's what gives the great western a kind of high seriousness. But in his resolve and his steadiness, I could imagine that he was. I am a skeptical person. And Joan's skepticism makes me look like Shirley Temple. But we both thought his word was good.

As we were finishing dinner, a man walked past our table, stopped short and stared. Joan's precautions were not a waste of time. I was sort of interested to see what Virgil Cole would do with an intrusive fan.

"My gawd," the guy said. "Aren't you Robert Parker?"

I looked at Ed. Ed looked at me.

I said, "Nya, nya."

Cole's eyes glittered for a moment. Then Ed threw his head back and laughed.

Robert B. Parker is the author of more than 50 novels, including the Spenser detective series. The film version of "Appaloosa" is scheduled for release next year.