The Rehearsal

is all about the unknown, right? Theater has its roots in magic and ritual and sacrifice, and magic and ritual and sacrifice depend on some element of mystery. Psychology is all about getting rid of mystery, turning superstitions and fears into things that we can understand.” He winked and speared an olive with a toothpick. “We’re practically at war.”
    Stanley felt stumped, as he often did when his father said something clever. Each year after this meal was over Stanley lay in bed and thought for hours about what he could have said back that would have been cleverer. He chased the oily bubbles of vinegar around his dish with his finger.
    “Do you disagree?” his father asked, looking at him sharply as he chewed.
    “Sort of,” Stanley said. “I guess I thought… I guess for me acting seems like a way of finding out about a person, or getting into a person. I mean, you have to understand sadness to be able to act it. I don’t know. That seems kind of similar to what you do.”
    “Ah-ha!” said Stanley’s father with the unpleasant greedy quickness of someone who likes to triumph in an argument. “So do you think actors know more about ordinary people than ordinary people know about themselves?”
    “No,” Stanley said, “but I’m not sure that psychologists know more about ordinary people than they know about themselves either.”
    His father burst out laughing and slapped the table.
    “Aren’t you supposed to be giving me life advice and passing on a torch or something?” Stanley asked, to change the subject.
    “Shit,” said his father. “I would have come prepared. How about you just tell me all the new cuss words, and we can swap dirty jokes. I’ve never been to drama school. Don’t ask me about my feelings.”
    “I don’t know any new cuss words,” said Stanley. “I think all the old ones are still current.”
    There was a small pause.
    “I’ve got a joke for you,” said Stanley’s father. “How do you give a priest a vasectomy?”
    “I don’t know,” said Stanley.
    “Kick the choirboy in the back of the head.”
    Stanley laughed and felt disgusted that his own father was more outrageous than he was. He started flicking through the brochure again just in case he’d missed something.
    The wine arrived. Stanley’s father made a great performance of tasting it, rolling it around in the bottom of his glass and inspecting the label on the bottle. “That’s fine,” he said to the waiter at last, nodding briefly at their glasses, and then switching his smile back to Stanley. “So, you want some life advice,” he said.
    “Not really,” said Stanley. “I just thought you were going to do the big ‘now you’re all grown up’ thing.”
    “You want psychobabble?”
    “No.”
    “Kid, you got good blood and a fine pair of shoes.”
    “It doesn’t matter.”
    “Did I tell you about my client who set herself on fire?”
    “I heard you telling Roger.”
    “Life advice,” said Stanley’s father, holding up his glass for a toast. “Right. I’ve got something good and nasty. Stanley, to mark your rite of passage I am going to tell you a secret.”
    They touched glasses and sipped.
    “Okay,” said Stanley reluctantly.
    His father stroked his lapel with his fingertips, his glass poised and careless in his other hand. He looked rich and camp and deadly. “I am going to tell you how to make a million dollars,” he said.
    Stanley had the hot frustrated feeling again, but all he said was Okay. He even smiled.
    His father said, “Okay. I want you to think of your time at high school. Five years, right? During those five years, same as during anyone’s five years at any high school, there was one kid in your year who died. Yes?”
    “I guess so.”
    “Maybe he drove too fast, drank too much, played with guns, whatever—there is always one kid who dies. Did you know, Stanley,” he said, “that you can take out life insurance on a person without them knowing?”
    Stanley just looked at him.
    “And the premiums on school kids,” his father continued, “are really, really low. Provided they don’t have any reasons to think these kids are going to die. You can take out a million-dollar life insurance policy on a kid for something like two hundred a year.”
    “Dad,” said Stanley disbelievingly.
    “All you’d need to do is pick it. All you’d need to do is to get in there and do some research and get some information that would give you the