Way Off by David Pratt
Four years into our relationship, I knocked the plug of Rob’s answering machine out of the wall. I stuck it back and ran off, dimly aware that…didn’t the machine need to be reset or…something?
That evening on the phone his voice was low and cold. “You have never supported my career, and this f*****g well shows it.” I could see the sweat on his lip. We spent the next two nights apart.
Rob was an actor. Sometimes. That is, in his core, as he defined himself, he was always and forever an actor. But by any objective measure, he was hardly one at all. During our time together, he would announce to friends, “I’ve quit the business” or “I’m back in the business,” and either way, it would be news to me. Once, he reinforced his return to “the business,” by changing his ban
