Method Acting

by Adele Buck

  “Full.” Jeanette had given him the good news earlier in the day that the firm’s table for the annual black-tie event celebrating extraordinary high school students’ achievements in science was sold out.

  “If only we get such a response with the RSVPs for our wedding.” He paused, his face cautious. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, what with…everything that’s happened in the last few months, but…you have a date, right?”

  Colin blinked. “A date?” He hadn’t even considered trying to get a date for his colleague’s wedding. He floundered, trying to remember when Brandon was getting married. Surely it wasn’t so soon? He couldn’t remember getting an invitation yet.

  “For the gala.” Brandon looked at him with wry amusement. “A date. You know. A woman you bring with you. Or a man, but I didn’t think you swung that way.”

  “Ah.” Colin smirked at nothing at all.

  “Indeed.” Brandon rose to his feet. “Make sure your tux still fits. Looks like you’ve been hitting the gym.”

  “Like you’re a stranger to the weight room.” Colin nodded at Brandon, who was thick with muscle.

  “I’ve abandoned it for my real loves. Table placement and floral arrangements,” Brandon said with a wink as he walked out of Colin’s office. But for all of his joking, Brandon seemed relaxed and happy.

  Colin couldn’t decide if he felt jealous or relieved that he wasn’t in Brandon’s shoes.

  Alicia looked around the small, bleak waiting room and took stock of the competition. It looked to her like there was little consensus on what sort of look the production was going for. In addition to Alicia, the room held two brunettes and a redhead, all in their mid-thirties, all of whom were pretending to peruse their printed sides and ignore everyone else. The only thing they seemed to have in common other than their age was that they were all slim and attractive.

  Alicia sat in a chair and looked at the sides she had stopped at a copy shop to print off. She had already read the script pages three times on the Metro, but this time she focused on the character description.

  Well, I’ll be damned. Melissa hadn’t been kidding when she said it contained, “Buttoned up in the House Chamber, a tigress in the bedchamber.” Alicia bit her lip and let her eyes lose focus, imagining this woman, her inner life. She didn’t know much more than that and what the scene’s lines gave her, which was a bantering, flirtatious exchange with a lobbyist.

  Well. She actually knew how that could go, didn’t she? She could and would use her time with Colin to her advantage, imagining it was his low voice and cultured accent saying the lobbyist’s lines, his handsome face focusing on her, heating her through. She wondered if the character’s interest was genuine or a means to some other end.

  Flipping through the pages, she decided that this woman really did like the man in question. It was there in the text, though she was being coy, unsure if her interest was returned. Deniability. That’s what this woman needed. That was why she included a bit of misdirection with her flirtation.

  One of the brunettes was called into the audition room by a production assistant with a clipboard as a blonde left. The blonde looked demoralized, her shoulders rounded as she walked out.

  Sorry, Alicia thought without irony. Auditioning was a tough business. It could do a number on your ego, your confidence, and your career.

  Casting another glance over the pages, Alicia focused again on the silly phrase her agent had derided. She felt it was like a shiny pebble in a stream, a promise of something special.

  Aha. Her shoulders released tension she hadn’t realized she was holding. Standing, she walked to the bored young woman who was taking names at the door.

  “Excuse me, where’s the bathroom?” she asked.

  “Take a right, down the hall, on your left.” The young woman didn’t even look up as she gave her response by rote, her ball-point pen jabbing out the directions she described.

  “Thank you.” The woman’s eyes fluttered up in surprise, and Alicia felt sympathy for her. Actors could be such shits sometimes. Common courtesy, people. How hard is it?

  Almost running down the hall, she pushed the bathroom door open and darted into a stall. Hanging her bag on the hook, she hiked up her skirt and shucked off her panties, stuffing the wisp of lace and satin into the bottom of her bag. Smoothing her skirt back down over her hips, she let a small smile curve her lips as she shouldered her bag and walked back to the waiting room.

  She barely had time to sit again, crossing her legs and almost giggling at the juxtaposition of conservative skirt and bare ass when her name was called.

  Colin, we’re up.

  Colin frowned at his computer screen. He had never had so much trouble composing an e-mail in his life.

  Why didn’t I get her number when I had the chance? He read through what he had written again. It was too stiff, too formal. He just wanted her to put on a dress and come with him to celebrate incredibly smart, hard-working young people. Why was that so damned difficult?

  “That scowl could peel the paint off the walls.” Brandon’s voice from the doorway pulled Colin’s attention from his screen. His friend looked amused.

  “Well, you try to invite a woman to a formal affair by e-mail and see how that works out for you,” Colin said, pushing his chair back from his desk in frustration.

  “Join the twenty-first century and text her,” Brandon said, his expression bland and tone reasonable.

  “I would, but I don’t have her number.”

  Brandon’s eyebrows flew up, and a faint, incredulous smile crossed his face. “Really? When did you meet this woman, anyway?”

  Colin’s eyes rolled to the ceiling as he thought. “Um…two weeks ago? Approximately? The party for Folger donors.”

  Settling his shoulder against the doorframe, Brandon considered Colin as if he were an interesting specimen in a glass case. “And have you seen her since?”

  “Yes. Twice.” Colin was aware that his jaw was getting tight.

  “…And you didn’t get her number.”

  “No.”

  “But you have her e-mail.”

  “Yes.”

  “Unusual.”

  “She’s an unusual woman,” Colin said, his eyes returning to the e-mail.

  “Does she like pop culture? If she does, it might reconcile Mari to attending this thing.”

  Colin rubbed his chin. “Not sure. She’s a Shakespearean actress who also sings in a jazz club. We haven’t covered current cultural touchstones yet.”

  “Sounds interesting.” Brandon folded his arms across his chest, his shoulder still digging into the doorframe.

  “She’s bloody fascinating. Frankly, I wish she were a bit less interesting. It would make my life easier.”

  Brandon grinned at this, hazel eyes twinkling. “Good luck. But if she’s willing to wear Chuck Taylors with an evening dress, Mari will love her forever.”

  “Get out of here and let me compose an incredibly stilted, ineffective e-mail to an incredibly beautiful, maddening woman,” Colin said, waving Brandon away.

  “I hope she says yes,” Brandon replied as he straightened to move down the hall. “I want to meet her.”

  Chapter 6

  Alicia locked the front door of her apartment and took a deep breath, scrubbing her fingernails through her hair. Tossing her bag onto the sofa, she walked back to the bedroom, unbuttoning her suit jacket and shrugging it off as she went.

  With most auditions, she immediately banished all thought of the experience from her mind when she tossed her pages in the trash and walked out the door. It was pointless to dwell on it: either she had impressed them or not. She was either what they had in mind or she wasn’t. There wasn’t a thing she could do about it once they had thanked her and said, “We’ll be in touch.” The clean-slate-ness of it all appealed to her in a perverse sort of way. She had built her life as a perpetually rolling stone, growing comfortable with never knowing what was next, rootless and ranging.

&nbs
p; She hung up the jacket and smiled to herself as she undid the zipper at the back of her skirt, her fingers brushing bare flesh as she let the garment drop to the floor. Her naughty little secret had done the trick, she reflected. Or she hoped it had. It had felt right, anyway.

  Stop. Thinking. About. The. Audition.

  Seriously, this wasn’t like her at all.

  Putting away her suit, Alicia grabbed a light jersey tank dress and dropped it over her head, ruffling her fingers through her hair and stretching her arms overhead.

  Sod the knickers, Colin’s deep voice said in her imagination. The thought sent a wicked thrill through her and she closed her eyes, envisioning his solid body pressed up behind her, his head lowered to taste her neck…

  Her phone rang.

  Huffing a frustrated breath through her nose, Alicia hurried back into the living room and dug her phone out of her bag. Glancing at the screen, her eyebrows shot up. “Hey Melissa, what’s up?”

  “What the hell did you do in that audition?”

  Alicia froze, eyes wide, gut churning. “Um. Why?”

  “They called me right after you left. It’s yours if you want it. They were blown away.”

  Alicia closed her eyes and silently danced in place for a few seconds. Regaining her composure, she said, “That is fantastic news. It looks like a great part.”

  “It is a great part. One possible snag, but I don’t think you’ll have a problem with it. There’s a nudity clause in the contract. You okay with that?”

  Rolling her eyes, Alicia thought for a moment. “How much skin and for how long?”

  “Waist up, just a few seconds.”

  Chewing on a fingernail, Alicia mulled over this new wrinkle. “How’s the money?”

  Melissa named a sum that beggared anything Alicia had ever been offered before. “What do you think?”

  Alicia held her breath for a moment. “I think I’d be an idiot not to take it. Tell them yes.”

  Loosening his tie as he walked through his house to his kitchen, Colin rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension in them that had hardened his muscles ever since the afternoon. Having spent far too much time at the office crafting the e-mail to ask Alicia to the gala, something impatient and irrational in him wanted a response right away. Putting his laptop bag on a chair, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

  Nothing.

  Bollocks to this. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was after six. She was probably already at the theater for the evening’s performance. The show was finishing up its run this weekend, so she must have to focus. Who knew when he would hear from her? Or if he would at all.

  No, she had said she wanted to see him again. Whether or not she was up for something as formal as the gala was another question, though. It was a hell of a leap from drinks to black-tie.

  Nothing for it but to do something while he waited. Walking to the stairs, he went up them two at a time and swung into his bedroom. Shedding his business attire, he put on an old tee shirt, running shorts, and trainers. A jog would clear his head. He hoped.

  Locking his door and walking down the steps past the little garden patch, he noticed that his plants wanted watering. He would have to do that when he got back. It had been so hot lately, with no rain to give the greenery relief. Setting out at a slow jog down his street, he turned right at the end and headed up First Street toward the Capitol. Normally, he would head south towards the Navy Yard, but he felt a visceral tug toward the part of town where he knew Alicia would be taking the stage.

  Muscles loosening, he began to run harder, heart pounding and arms pumping. Reaching D Street, he turned left, away from the route to the Folger. Which was silly. There was no need to try to avoid looking like a stalker. He could run laps around the bloody building and never see her during a performance. Instead, he headed toward the East end of the National Mall. Reaching the long expanse of park, he headed west past the National Museum of the American Indian, then the Air and Space Museum, passing pickup soccer games and dodging slow-moving packs of tourists. Sweat poured off his face, and his shirt stuck to his chest. His hair, shaggy and needing a trim, hung across his forehead, and he pushed it back with impatient fingers.

  Turning along Fourteenth Street, he noticed a young woman following his progress, her eyes locked on his moving form. He almost chuckled to himself when he realized how his brain immediately dismissed her as not-Alicia.

  Maybe she’s written back. Shoving his hand into the pocket of his running shorts, he realized he left his phone at the house.

  Digging deep for greater speed, he turned again in front of the Museum of American History and headed back toward home.

  Kathleen paused in putting on the dramatic eye makeup she wore for her role as Lady Capulet and looked at Alicia in the mirror of their shared dressing room. “Alicia, hon, either you have a feral vibrator in your bag or your phone is going nuts.”

  “Crap. I can’t get it. This stupid thing has gotten twisted again.” Alicia’s costume, intentionally somewhat ragged and shapeless, had a tendency to get caught on itself. Alicia strained to figure out what the problem was now, twisting her shoulders around to see behind her.

  “Let me,” said Wendy, who played Lady Montague and was the other occupant of the tiny, shared dressing room.

  “Nah, I’ll figure it out.”

  Kathleen shot her an exasperated look and got up from the chair in front of the makeup mirror. “Let people help you out once in a while.”

  “I did. I let you help me at the donor party.”

  “And I nearly died of shock. You’re like a goddamn island.” Kathleen grabbed Alicia’s bag and began to rummage in it for the phone.

  Alicia glanced at Wendy, who grimaced. “She’s not wrong.”

  “Okay…if you could figure out how it’s caught, thanks.” Alicia felt churlish, but Wendy stepped forward, her clever hands swiftly finding the problem. Alicia sighed with relief.

  “Thanks. Now I can actually move.”

  “So…do you want to answer this or these?” Kathleen asked, holding up Alicia’s phone with one hand and dangling her black lace panties from the other.

  Alicia bit back annoyance and snatched both from Kathleen as Wendy’s eyes went wide and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Thanks, but the data plan for La Perla is too rich for my blood, let’s just put those back…” Alicia stuffed the underwear into the bottom of her bag.

  “Can I ask…why you’re carrying a thong in your purse?” Wendy asked, eyes goggling.

  “Secret weapon in an audition,” Alicia said, unlocking her phone and looking at the screen.

  “Oooh,” Kathleen murmured. “How’d it go?” Her face went from eager to worried in an instant. “And please, please, please tell me this has nothing to do with any kind of casting couch.”

  “It went well, actually. And no way, no how to the casting couch. It was just…personal sensory stuff. Nobody but me knew.” Alicia dismissed the text message appointment reminder from her hair salon and saw she had an e-mail. She opened the app and her eyes widened as they scanned the screen.

  “Well you go, girl. And looks like you got some more interesting news if your face is anything to go by,” Wendy noted.

  “A message from my other secret weapon.” She looked from one woman to the other. “Now…do I really want to go to a black-tie function?”

  “Why not?” Wendy asked.

  “I barely know the guy. This seems a little much.”

  “Who is it?” Wendy asked.

  Alicia adopted an exaggerated British accent. “That bloke I met at the donor party.”

  Kathleen’s brows shot up. “The guy I had to rescue you from? The asshole?”

  Alicia squirmed. “Well, turns out he’s not so much of an asshole. Anyway, I’ve got nothing to wear. Closest thing I have to black tie is the cocktail dress I wore the night I met him.”

  “Olga’s,” Kathleen said.

  “And who is Olga?” Alicia asked, blinking
.

  “Olga runs a top-notch consignment place in Palisades. Go to Olga. You’ll get a screaming deal on a beautiful dress.”

  “Hmm. Worth a try. I guess I know how I’m spending tomorrow morning,” Alicia said.

  A brisk knock at the dressing room door was followed by the assistant stage manager’s, “Twenty minutes, ladies.”

  “Thank you,” the three women chorused automatically, and the sound of his feet moved down the hall to the next door.

  “Can I come with?” Kathleen asked. “This mouse wants to help Cinderella get ready for the ball.”

  Turning down his street, Colin slowed to a walk, chest heaving and sweat trickling in rivulets down his body. Letting himself into his house, he walked back to the kitchen and grabbed the large watering can from the back deck. After filling it at the sink, he took it outside to water the tiny patch of garden by his front door. Colin fancied he could see the little Japanese maple perk up in front of his eyes. Satisfied with his miniature rain shower, he went back into the house and replaced the can.

  Opening the refrigerator, he took out a bottle of beer. With deliberate motions, he opened a drawer, took out an opener, popped the top off, and took a long pull. He took a deep breath and finally picked his phone up off of the counter, walking to his little back garden. The deck that extended from the house had a pair of chairs and a small table. Lowering himself into one of the chairs, he unlocked his phone and checked his e-mail.

  He smiled. A message marked “Alicia Johnson” was at the top of his inbox.