Indoor Movies   Imagine my surprise the night she handed me that broken statuette for Best Impersonation — to learn that I’d landed the part sans audition or screen test, that my character emoted his lines in the perfect conditional — the things I would have said anyway, or the kinds of things I would have done, badly, to bring that cartoon to its blundering climax: blind to her tears, deaf to her piteous pleas, heartless, heedless, untethered to the facts, I would have failed to rescue her. The season’s best performance in an unsupporting role — the speeches she scripted, the scenes she said I stole.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont November 2010