“Mila,” Ethan said, preparing to defend the decisions about which he himself often second-guessed, “you’re kinda putting words in my mouth.”
“Tell me—did you like drama?”
“Yeah,” he admitted, “but it was nerve-wracking.”
“Oh, come on. I can see it in your eyes. You loved it. You’re just too afraid to admit it because people would think you’re a pussy.”
Ethan didn’t know what to say. Truthfully, he didn’t really like where he was, and he was tired of trying to save face. “Okay, acting was cool. I love the movies. The thought of being on the big screen thrills me. But it’s a pipe dream. It’s not real.” He paused but only for an instant. “Did you ever see a movie called The Warriors? That was the first movie I wanted to be in.”
“Ethan,” Mila interrupted before he could go on, “why don’t you join us. We need a replacement for Luke. He quit after the rehearsal on Monday. Says he’s too busy with school but partying’s more like it. You’d be perfect. And there aren’t a lot of lines.” She waited while he thought about it. “You have natural instinct,” she added. “I saw it the first night we met. It’s a rare quality my father told me about years ago. What do you say?”
Ethan was trying to keep up. Engineering was why he’d come to Ottawa, yet the arts seem destined to find a way back into his life. What if he did take the role? Would he get too distracted? Was it really a choice? “Sure,” he said, surprising himself. Whether he could pull it off with school remained to be seen, but he’d get to spend more time with Mila. “When?”
“Wow!” Mila cried grabbing his hand. “I mean—that’s great! I was afraid you’d say no. We can go back and start reading now.”
Their food arrived. They munched away on the burgers and fries, but Ethan didn’t really taste them. He was trying to figure out how he was actually going to do it.
“Mila,” Ethan said, taking the heavy brown paper on which his burger was served and crumpling it into a ball, “what makes you think I can do this?”
Mila looked back at him, holding a fry between her thumb and forefinger. “You do, Ethan.” She grabbed his hand again and squeezed it. Smiling, she said, “It’s just a feeling but a really good feeling.”
He just shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for words.
As they walked back to the university, Ethan wondered what he’d gotten himself into.
Chapter 3
Real Time
December 1983
“You’ve got to be more forceful!” Mila cried. “You’re pissed at her. She’s destroying herself, and it’s breaking your heart. Pretend you’re pissed at me. What would you say?”
“I love you,” he replied smugly.
“No!” Mila exclaimed. “Be serious. That’s not what you’d say. Come on. You’re really pissed at me. You’d curse, something like, ‘Damn, Mila, what the fuck are you doin’?’” Mila then paused and looked at Ethan like he had somehow detached his head from his body.
“I love you is exactly what I’d say,” he repeated, realizing Mila was suddenly hearing him.
“You would too,” she replied. “That’s the line.” She grabbed the script and crossed out what was there, replacing it with Ethan’s response. “Perfect. I like it. I knew you’d be great. It’s uncanny. You’re a natural.”
“Oh, I’m a natural all right,” he repeated, chuckling. “A natural choke artist. Just you wait.” Ethan was joking, but he slowly was getting comfortable with the idea of performing in front of a live audience without holding a guitar.
It was midnight. They’d been going over the script for the better part of the evening—a good four hours. A break was more than overdue.
“Mila, what do you say we call it a night?” he suggested, tossing the script on her unmade bed. “This is good, but I don’t want to wear myself out.”
Mila looked back at him. Her eyes were magnificent, so alive with excitement. Her whole being was absorbed. Ethan could almost touch her love for the craft; it was so real.
“It’s okay; you won’t,” she replied, sitting on the corner of her bed, flipping through several pages of the script. “There’s another part I want you to take a look at.”
Ethan stood up from the director’s chair in the corner of her small dorm room and sat down beside her on the bed. “I could really use a break,” he whispered near her ear.
Mila dropped the script on the floor, turned her head, and kissed him. She kissed him deeply as his hands tightened around her shoulders, pulling her close. He couldn’t get close enough. His hands slipped under her sweatshirt, his fingertips spreading across her smooth skin. Her stomach was hard. His hands slipped beneath the lace of her bra and caressed her breasts. Her warm breath against his neck felt exquisite. She helped him pull her shirt over her head as he adeptly unhooked her bra. His dreams were coming true. She was so beautiful. He kissed her neck from behind as her head slowly swayed from side to side in rhythm to a secret melody. His hands cupped her breasts again and again. Their hungry mouths came together. Her fingers found his chest and pushed, squeezed, and clawed off his Reebok T-shirt. She kissed and tongued his chest. His quivering hands slid down her sides and over her hips. Her skin was so silky; he couldn’t get enough of it. Their fingers, lips, and tongues devoured each other with an insatiable appetite.
Destiny had brought them together—they were meant to be.
Ethan awoke in the early hours and slipped from her bed. Mila looked heavenly; wisps of her brunette hair were splayed across her forehead. The script lay on the floor where she’d dropped it. He retrieved it and left.
A week later, Ethan was on the stage for the third time. Most of the cast gave Mila a “what’s this crazy broad up to?” look when she brought him to the first rehearsal, but that changed quickly after Ethan spoke his first few lines. The looks turned to stares of amazement as Ethan took on his role and became increasingly comfortable with the script and interacting with the other actors. His initial nervousness faded as he transitioned into his performance and his lines became more natural. Each night, they would rehearse—he and Mila—until the early morning hours, when they then would make love until, exhausted, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. It was an incredible time. Ethan finally had found where he fit, like that perfect pair of shoes that slide on right out of the box. The stage was his, and he shared it with the one he was falling in love with.
“Let’s take five,” announced Alexander, the director of their production. “Ethan, can I see you for a second?” Ethan walked over and sat down on the side of the stage. “Ethan,” Alexander said, turning to face him, “you seem to be enjoying yourself up there.”
“Can you tell?”
“No question,” Alexander replied. “You’ve really taken to the role.”
“Thanks. I’ve had a lot of help. Mila’s a remarkable teacher.” Ethan shifted on the stage, just in time to glimpse his roommate, Robbie, walking toward the auditorium exit. He threw up his hand to signal Robbie to come down front. It’d been a couple days since they’d last talked.
“Listen, Ethan,” Alexander said, his voice becoming noticeably quieter and serious. “Would you be interested in auditioning for a show a friend of mine is producing downtown?”
Ethan hesitated, flattered by the request but uncertain of how to answer. “I’d be interested, but I’ve got no time. I’ve hardly cracked my books since I started on this thing.”
“Ethan,” Alexander continued in a low voice, “I don’t need to tell you. You’re a natural.”
“Thanks,” Ethan replied, catching Robbie approaching behind Alexander, “but all the credit goes to Mila. I’ll have to think it over.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Alexander added, “but I have to know soon—like in a couple of days. If not, we have to find someone else.”
“Okay. And thanks again.”
Alexander got up
and pulled a pack of du Mauriers out of his pocket as Robbie joined them. “Time to support my habit,” Alexander said, placing a cigarette between his lips. “See you in five.”
Ethan was trying to think of something smart to say but couldn’t, so he just waved. He turned to Robbie. “How you doin’?” he greeted him.
“Just fine, guy. You look like you’ve finally found something you’re good at.”
Ethan laughed. They were always trying to get at one another.
Robbie was an outgoing, affable kid who couldn’t quite understand Ethan’s reserve but respected it. While Ethan was quiet and bookish, Robbie was a clever extrovert who needed little sleep and constant interaction with others. “Hemingway,” Robbie had announced one day, picking up one of the books on Ethan’s desk. “The Old Man and the Sea. I wonder if ol’ Ernest ever imagined this little book would make him a star.”
“It did restore his literary prowess,” Ethan had replied.
Their talk of books then had turned to movies. “The Philadelphia Story with Cary Grant was the first movie I ever watched,” Robbie had said. “There’s nothing like the old black-and-white pictures.” Robbie had seen a lot of movies, from Casablanca to Star Wars.
Now, Robbie’s eyes followed Alexander as he left.
“You know it feels like I’m good at it,” Ethan replied seriously. “It’s kind of magical. I’ve looked a long time to find this. I get to become someone else for a brief moment in time.”
“Well, I’ll tell you something,” Robbie admitted, looking Ethan straight in the eye. “You appear to be someone else too. It’s like your mannerisms and everything change. It’s pretty good for a jerk-off. But don’t let it go to your head. You’re still fucked up.”
“You up for a beer later?” Ethan asked, ignoring the shot.
“You know,” Robbie answered, “that’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said.”
“We’ll be another hour or so,” Ethan continued, “if you can stay up that late. Say, why are you here anyway?”
“Ah, you know,” Robbie replied. “Kinda thought I should support the school and see how my roommate gets so fucked up.”
“Well, thanks,” Ethan said, flattered by Robbie’s left-handed compliment.
“I was talking about Little Miss Muffin up there,” Robbie said, nodding toward the stage. “She’s unbelievable.”
Ethan turned to see Mila standing a few feet away, beside the stage. “You mean Mila,” he said. Mila must have heard him say her name, as she came over and put her hand on his shoulder. “Robbie Johnson, meet the genuine Miss Mila Monahan.”
Robbie’s eyes widened as he shook hands with Mila.
“Robbie’s going to join us for a beer after rehearsal.”
“Hey, that’s great,” Mila said in welcome. “Ethan’s told me about you. It would be good to hear the truth.”
They all laughed. Robbie said he’d stick around to the end, and they could head out together. Robbie then found a seat a few rows from the front.
Mila had the script in her hand.
“Tired?” Ethan asked, sitting down on the side of the stage.
“A little,” she replied as he rubbed his hand down the middle of her back. “We’ve a lot to do and no time to do it. Another week, and it’s showtime.”
A chill went up Ethan’s back, raising gooseflesh on his arms. He was just getting comfortable with rehearsals. The thought of performing in front of an audience terrified him. He forced himself to think of something else. “Hey,” he said with a serious expression on his face, “you got me into this, so don’t even think about abandoning ship now.”
A look of horror crossed her face. “Ethan!” she exclaimed. “Don’t even suggest such a thing. That’s not what I meant.” Mila seemed hurt.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. My feeble attempt at humor.”
“Ethan,” she whispered, moving closer to avoid being overheard, “I don’t like anything that could jinx the show.”
“All right, everybody!” shouted Alexander from the front of the stage. “Let’s get back to our places. Scene two—let’s move it!”
The next hour went by with only a handful of miscues. Performing in front of an audience kept creeping back into Ethan’s head. Mila said it was the most exhilarating part of the whole experience for her. He didn’t doubt it for a minute, but it still scared him shitless.
Chapter 4
Real Time
December 1983
The final week of dress rehearsal came and went without a hitch. Ethan became increasingly comfortable. His lines began to appear almost magically before his eyes as the words became his own. Mila and Alexander both remarked on his transformation. Alexander told Ethan it often took actors years to accomplish characterization; some never did. Flattered, Ethan wasn’t sure he understood exactly what they were talking about. “Whatever works” became his motto.
There was a lot to do in the remaining hours before opening night. Alexander was up for the better part of two days from the last rehearsal, arranging and rearranging, meticulous in his attention to detail. The show was part of his master’s degree in dramatic arts. He wanted everything perfect. They ran on a sparse—really, nonexistent—budget. Everything from costumes to the set design was minimalist in nature. Ethan was astonished by the tremendous effort required to bring it all together on opening night. Nervous anxiety ran at a fever pitch.
Ethan paced around the backstage room the actors used as a dressing room. They all had their own way of dealing with pre-show jitters. Some talked incessantly about nothing. Others were quiet, refusing to speak to anyone as they played and replayed scenes, lines, actions, and whatever else was in their heads. Excitement and tension filled the room. Like expectant fathers, they waited and watched the clock tick down the minutes before the big event.
Ethan became very nauseated an hour before curtain time. He had visions of puking at center stage in front of the audience.
Furthering everyone’s tenseness was Mila’s absence. She was never late; in fact, usually she was there before anyone else. The stage action she lived for was closing in, yet she was nowhere to be found—several of them had looked on campus for her—and no one had heard from her.
Alexander was freaking out, pacing backstage and cursing her lateness. For him, it was becoming unbelievable. “Where the fuck could she be?” he hissed, staring at his watch. “You have no idea what she’s up to? Like picking up a cake or champagne for opening-night celebrations?”
Ethan shook his head and shrugged. “She didn’t say anything to me. I’m as shocked as you are.”
It was starting to scare Ethan. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t called anyone, especially him. It wasn’t like her not to show, especially for something so important to her.
Alexander finally made the decision that no stage director wants to make, particularly five minutes before curtain time. Mila’s understudy would have to step in. Ethan knew they would have to make it happen—the show must go on—but outside of meeting the girl and exchanging a few lines, he had practiced very little with her.
Now it was Ethan’s turn to freak out. He was concerned for Mila’s safety. He scanned the theater every few minutes for some sign of his love. His pre-show jitters were replaced by a fear that harm had come to her in some way. He felt wretched. This was not what he’d signed up for. He could only pray. With no Mila and an understudy who was nervous beyond words, the curtain rose.
From the first spoken words, opening night turned from one disaster into another. Alexander was beside himself with frustration. Ethan was so distracted that at one point, with his lines forgotten, he looked to the sky in character and asked for strength. After the final scene, rather than return to the stage for his curtain call, he ran out of the auditorium to Mila’s dorm.
Numerous times during the performance, different mem
bers of the cast had called her room. After several tries with no answer, Ethan had called the dorm superintendent to check her room, who only returned to say there was no answer at her door.
“Well, fucking go in and check!” Ethan had yelled into the phone. “This is an emergency!” A sickening feeling seeped into his already cramped stomach; he was certain something was very wrong and was helpless to do a thing about it until the performance was over.
When he reached her dorm, he found two police cruisers parked outside the entrance. His heart dropped to the bottom of his gut. His feet stopped moving in his worst nightmare. Inside the foyer of Mila’s dorm, several students were standing around. A police officer was writing on a black pocket-sized notepad. Ethan’s mouth opened to ask the officer what had happened, but he didn’t hear his own words come out. Stricken expressions of fear were written in the faces of the students he recognized from the dorm, reflecting his own fear as they turned to look at him. Verbal communication was unnecessary.
Ethan was terrified that it was Mila—and it was bad. He heard someone say her name.
“Mila who?” asked one of the students from the throng of voices. “Mila on third?”
“Oh, my God!” Ethan screamed, hearing the name he most feared, his emotions releasing his tightly strung feelings. His legs grew weak as he slumped against a wall.
Many of the students turned, confusion on their blood-drained faces.
“Someone broke a window on the third floor tonight, son,” stated the police officer in an officious tone. “You know anything about that?”
Ethan realized he knew something about the room but couldn’t speak about it—because he couldn’t remember exactly. His mind already was changing what he knew. Maybe he’d find Mila up in her room with a major case of the flu. God, he prayed that would be the case. He tried with all his might to picture her thin, beautiful body curled up on her side in her small dorm bed, resting after another bout of vomiting.
The Actor Page 3