The Rehearsal

by Sarah Willis

  “We’re going to do a read-through. Now that Melinda is finally here, it will bring us back together before we move on. But first, we need to get rid of all the excess energy caused by the recent turn of events.” They are still acting like a bunch of schoolkids, glancing at each other, winking, whispering. He expects they’ll start passing notes if he doesn’t do something about it. “Form a circle out here on the lawn. Ben, bring me that rubber ball over by the house. What we’re going to do is toss the ball around the circle, like kids do. When you catch the ball, you have to shout out something that your character wants or needs. We’ve heard what you want, now it’s your character’s turn. Don’t think, just shout. When you can’t think of any more words, repeat the one thing that sounded best. Continue until I call a halt. We’re miles from anyone. Use your voices. Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” Melinda says. The bright, happy look in her eyes makes Will almost forget how much trouble this woman has given him. Her enthusiasm is what he’s been looking for all along. He smiles at Melinda, then ushers everyone into a circle.

  “Ready?”

  Myra listens to the sound of Will walking away, then waits two minutes and gets up off her bed. She goes out the side door, finds the bag under the peony bush, and sneaks into the woods.

  Beth sneaks downstairs and makes a phone call. Deb answers on the first ring.

  “Hello!”

  “Who are you hoping I am? Cliff, right? You’re sitting by the phone waiting for Cliff to call. The guy’s a jerk, Deb. Give it up.”

  “Screw you, Beth.”

  “Listen, I’m going crazy here. Did you find me some LSD? I really need it.”

  “No. I couldn’t score. But I sent you a package with the brush you left at my house and your pink underwear, and I stuck in a box of Jujubes. I put ten of my mom’s Valium in the Jujubes box and taped it shut, so don’t start eating the candy till you find all the pills. My mom mailed it yesterday. She’ll never miss the pills. She’s got like a half dozen bottles. Take, like, two, and you’ll feel fine. Three will knock you out. I did three last Friday night, and Cliff must have done something to me, ’cause the asshole buttoned up my shirt wrong and hasn’t called me since. I had a hickey on my boob. I’m going to kill him.”

  “Valium? I need acid, Deb. It’s not for me, don’t you get it? I’m going to spike my mom’s drink.”

  “Well, I couldn’t get it. What do you want me to do? If I can’t get it, I can’t get it.” She pauses. “You know, you should be grateful I sent you anything.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Thanks. But if you get acid, send it to me right away, okay?”

  “Sure, but don’t hold your breath. Did you hear Cindy Wasserman’s pregnant? Can you fucking believe that?”

  “How would I hear that? I’m stuck here in the middle of nowhere, Deb. Was it Patterson?”

  “Uh-huh. Can you believe it? God, I’d die first.”

  “Look, Deb, I gotta go. I’m supposed to be grounded in my room.”

  “What did you do now?”

  “Nothing at all. But I gotta hang up.”

  “Okay. But don’t tell anyone what I told you about Cliff, okay?”

  “Who am I gonna tell? The goddamn trees?”

  “You know what I mean, Beth. Promise.”

  “Okay. I promise. And thanks for the pills. Three would knock me out, huh?”

  “Yeah. So be careful.”

  “Okay, ’bye.”

  With any luck, the package will arrive tomorrow, but probably not until Monday. She’ll just have to wait till then.

  Will’s idea to exhaust the actors with this latest exercise has backfired. It started out just fine, but somehow it ended up as a wild game of tag with the ball. And his idea of a read-through is impossible because Jimmy and Nate have not returned from fishing, which is exactly why Will is going to insist that all the actors stay at the farm from now on. He might as well just give up. Ignoring the actors’ hoots and hollers with the damn ball, Will goes behind the house to piss on the pine tree. Shakes, who has followed along, goes up to the pine to sniff Will’s pee. Will’s not angry at the dog anymore, can’t even remember why he was, and feels a bond with the poor old dog who is just trying to be a dog, just as Will is just trying to be a director. He bends down and pats the dog on his bristly head, and says, “Sorry, Shakes,” thinking, Did I kick this dog?

  Ben comes around the side of the house, and Will thinks Ben must be looking for him, until Ben unzips and whizzes on the pine, at which point, Shakes, so intent on getting a smell of this, too, gets pissed on.

  “Stupid dog,” Will says.

  “Calm down,” Ben says. “Things will turn around.”

  “When?” Will asks.

  “Hell if I know,” Ben says, zipping up his pants.

  “What should I do?” Will asks.

  “Keep trying. We’ll catch on. Don’t give up on us.”

  Will sighs. “You know what, Ben? It’s not you guys I’m worried about. It’s me. Maybe I’ve lost it. I never knew where it came from, these visions I have. When I saw the barn become the set of Of Mice and Men, I felt inspired, but right now, I feel a little crazy. Maybe I’ve lost it this time.”

  Ben’s face droops, as if the muscles just give up on trying to be cheerful. But then, as always, he grins. “We trust you, Will. You still got it. Don’t worry so much.” Ben places one big hand on Will’s shoulder, and with the weight of that hand, Will remembers all the times Ben has done this, listened to Will talk out his ideas, his questions, his worries. Yet Ben has never once come to Will with his own troubles, even when the man was doing back flips to get his wife back. Ben sent her flowers every day for three months. He never asked Will what he thought, just, “Sent them again today. Maybe she’ll see I’m not so bad,” then shrugged off any of Will’s help, as if the relationship just didn’t work that way. Will feels bad about that. He needs Ben, just as he needs Myra. He wonders if they know it.

  “Thanks, Ben,” Will says. “But there’s more than the theatre at stake here. Myra’s going to hate me, isn’t she?”

  Ben doesn’t say anything, just looks away.

  It’s not the answer Will wants. “Well, Ben,” he says, “let’s get back there before they begin to wonder about us.”

  “Yes, honey,” Ben says in falsetto.

  Shakes lifts his leg and, wobbling like an uneven three-legged stool, pisses on the pine, then heads back to the barn.

  As Will passes the house, he notes how quiet it seems. He hopes Myra and Beth are having a long mother-daughter talk. He tries to imagine them baking bread together, but he doesn’t have enough energy to make this vision work.

  “Oh, shit,” Jimmy McGovern says from the helm of the boat.

  “What?” Nate asks, but as he looks up, he sees immediately what has caught Jimmy’s attention. The sky at the west end of the lake looks like a dark wall.

  “Damn thing just came out of nowhere.” Thunder rumbles ominously. “Fast,” Jimmy says. As they watch, the line of black moves inches across the sky. “Reel in, guys. Now! Move it!”

  Mac turns, obviously frightened by the tone of Jimmy’s voice, then sees the storm. He lets go of the rod. It drops into the water.

  “Oh, shit!” Jimmy yells, and Nate knows it’s because he’s scared, but Mac thinks it’s because he dropped the rod. He looks at the rod floating away, then back to the sky, then back at the rod, then back at Jimmy. His eyes are filled with tears.

  “It’s a cheap rod,” Jimmy says. “Forget about it. But we gotta get out of here. Nate, hold that kid tight! Goddamn fucking shit!”

  Nate pulls Mac into his lap, and Mac doesn’t resist in the slightest, just holds on to Nate, trembling. A second before Mac buries his head against Nate’s chest, the two of them look at each other, both, Nate thinks, with the very same emotions: fear and gratitude. Nate is scared too, but strengthened just by the weight of this small child in his arms, strengthened in a way he can’t quite understand but feels. Suddenly
Nate feels deeply protective. He’ll hold on to Mac at all costs. See him to safety. It’s a second chance, not just to save someone but save himself. With more candor than he’s felt in years, Nate asks God to protect them both. And Jimmy.

  Whitecaps break the surface of the lake. The boat’s going so fast, the bow crests high above the water, then dips, and spray from the planing boat soaks both Mac and Nate. A bolt of lightning streaks down behind them sharp and bright. The shore is about a mile away, where docks sprout out from the land like fingers.

  “Any dock in a storm!” Jimmy shouts above the roar of the boat. “Just be ready to jump out and tie her down.”

  From the child held against his chest, Nate hears, “Mommy.”

  Myra tells herself she won’t touch the wine until she finds her backpack, but stopping first in the open woods on the ridge, she tries to sing, and, instead, cries. Finally, her legs fold beneath her, and she sits on the ground, opens the wine, and drinks half the bottle in five large gulps. When she’s done, she’s not crying anymore, so she waits to see how she feels. Still lousy. She stands and begins to hike in the direction of where she must have left the backpack. The air smells like rain.

  Myra starts down the other side of the hill and finds herself at the edge of a grove of sumac trees. Above her the sky is growing dark, even though it can’t be very late. She’d better crawl under the sumacs, where she’ll be protected. Trying to crawl, the wine bottle gets in the way, and she pulls out the cork and finishes the bottle off. Although she is still depressed as hell about Melinda showing up, and mad at Will for just about everything under the sun, she suddenly laughs. “Screw them,” she says out loud. Giggling, she pats the thin trunk of a nearby sumac and says, “Sorry.”

  She hums “On a Clear Day,” which it’s not, but what the hell. Myra closes her eyes and thinks she hears drums. “We don’t need drums,” she says. “No drums please.” But a band is marching this way, playing a whole different song than the one Myra is trying to hum.

  When Will returns from behind the barn with Ben, only Melinda, Norton Frye, and Greg Henry are left. “Where the hell did everyone go?” Will asks.

  “Frank just walked off,” Greg says. “Lars and Chip went inside, and Victor’s asleep in the barn.” Greg flips his cigarette butt on the grass, and Will loses all patience.

  “Goddamn it, pick that up! Were you brought up in a barn?”

  The absurdity of this statement makes Norton snort, an obnoxious sound if Will ever heard one. Then Greg starts to laugh. Putting a hand on Norton’s shoulder, the two snigger away while Melinda reaches down and picks up Greg’s cigarette and carries it over to the sand-filled coffee can. “Would you throw a cigarette butt in your mother’s hair?” Melinda asks. “The earth is your mother.”

  This causes the two men to become hysterical, leaning on each other amidst whoops of laughter.

  Will puts two fingers into his mouth and whistles. His voice is loud; his whistle is deafening. Greg and Norton jerk backward, covering their ears. “We need to talk. Melinda, will you please fetch the men from the house? Ben, wake Victor. Greg, Norton, in the barn please. No cigarettes.”

  In five minutes, the cast of Of Mice and Men, sans Jimmy McGovern and Nate Johnson, are sitting in the barn. “I’m disgusted with the lot of you,” he says in a low tone that he hopes will show just how disgusted he is. “I’m goddamn sick of being the only one committed to—”

  “Daddy!” Beth shouts, running into the barn.

  “What!” Will snaps. He can’t believe his daughter, whom he has grounded to her room, has interrupted him this way.

  “Look at the sky!”

  The way the actors stare at Beth makes her feel important, but as soon as they are outside and see how quickly the blackness has moved in only a minute, she feels small and scared. Already the wind has picked up so that twigs and last year’s leaves rush by, so that voices are carried right past ears, unheard. It’s not a tornado, but whatever it is, it’s wide and very black. “In the house!” It’s her father’s voice, the one sure sound besides the howl of wind. They run.

  Victor Peters trips and falls. Shakes is blown sideways, and Lars runs to get him, missing him the first time, but finally grabbing the dog by the back of the neck. Ben has gone back to help Victor up. Her father yells something about the barn doors, and Greg Henry turns around to give him a hand. Even though she’s scared, Beth runs back to the barn to help them. They pull the doors shut, then run toward the house; the wind pushes them sideways, and they zigzag across the lawn like drunks. Halfway to the house there is a deafening crack of lightning so close by that Beth freezes in midstep, sure the lightning must have struck the ground only feet away. Chip, holding open the kitchen door, shouts and points. As Beth turns to see what he’s pointing at, a dead branch, as long as she is tall, flies straight at her, but Greg Henry pushes her aside, and she falls. The branch smacks into Greg’s face, and he’s knocked to the ground. Beth shrieks, her legs shaking so badly she can’t stand up. Her father appears out of nowhere; suddenly it’s dark, like night. Or is she blinded by the lightning? Beth wonders, as her dad picks her up and carries her into the house. Coming in behind her, Ben has Greg in his arms. He lays Greg down on the kitchen floor, and the people in the house hold still for a moment, looking at each other and listening to the storm. The walls shake, the rafters creak, and the house is pummeled by branches, lawn chairs, and cans of sand, sounding like gunshots as they hit the house. Greg Henry lies on the kitchen floor, his eyes closed, a gash across his face.

  “Oh my god! He’s dead!”

  Beth’s scream makes Greg flinch. His eyes open. He’s alive, but bleeding to death!

  Greg Henry has saved her, and she must go to him, but he’s surrounded. Ben holds Greg’s head in his lap, Victor Peters holds his right hand, and Norton Frye presses a dish towel to Greg’s face. As Beth tries to get closer, her father says, “Move back, Beth. Move back.”

  “You poor boy,” Norton Frye says, then looks right at Beth. “We should have remained in the barn.”

  Will looks at Greg’s face, horrified. Outside, the wind whips thick sheets of rain against the window. It’s impossible to see the barn, but he thinks it’s still there. Past the barn, to the north, from the direction of the storm, there seems to be a thin line of clear sky, or at least, less darkness. Will has never seen anything like this before. A tempest, he thinks, in awe of the real thing.

  He’ll have to drive Greg to the hospital as soon as it’s safe to leave the house. Strange that Myra hasn’t come downstairs with all of Beth’s screaming.

  “I worked in a medical unit in the war,” Norton tells Lars. “I know what I’m doing. We don’t need ice, we need pressure! Right, Will?”

  Will hasn’t a clue. During the war he was in charge of morale, stationed in South Africa; he spent most of the war running the movie projector and trying to get entertainers to sing and dance for the wounded soldiers—who were already bandaged. “I think so, Norton,” Will says. “Are you okay, Greg?” It’s a stupid question; the boy is pale, the dish towel is bloodred. Greg doesn’t answer.

  “As soon as the storm calms down, I’ll get my car and drive up to the door.” Where the hell is Myra? he wonders. She’d know what to do. “Beth, go upstairs and get your mother!” He doesn’t mean to sound angry at his daughter, but her sobbing is getting on his nerves, and she should have thought about fetching her mother already.

  As Beth maneuvers around all the people crowded in the kitchen, Melinda tells Ben to move over—something about massage. Is she out of her mind? But she slips Greg’s head into her lap while Norton holds the towel to Greg’s cheek, rubbing her fingers in circles above his temples. Greg’s grimace seems to slacken. Will’s out of his depth here. Blood and gore, unless they are stage makeup, make him very nervous. He looks away from Greg and back outside. There’s a tree missing.

  “Mom’s not here!” Beth says, breathless in the kitchen doorway.

  Will can’t bel
ieve what he’s just heard. The girl is like the messenger in a Greek tragedy, always foretelling some kind of doom. He forces himself not to yell at her. “What?” Apparently he says this a little too harshly. Beth starts to cry again.

  “She’s not up there, Daddy. She’s not anywhere in the house!”

  “Well, where the hell is she?” Will says. He looks around the kitchen, half-expecting her to just appear. There are enough people here. Why not Myra? Then it hits him. If she’s not here, then she must be outside.

  Will looks at Beth. She has just figured this out too. Her mouth opens. Huge tendrils of mascara roll down her cheeks. They both move as quickly as they can to the window. Will can barely make out the shape of their tan station wagon. “The car’s here,” Beth says. Her voice is flat and breathy. “Maybe she’s in the barn?”

  “No. She wasn’t in the barn.”

  Beth puts her hands over her mouth and moans.

  “Listen, Beth,” Will says. “She’s probably gone into the woods. The wind is much stronger out here in the open. She’ll be protected.” It makes sense. The woods will block much of the wind.

  Down on the floor there is a lot of murmuring, like the low buzz of a crowd scene. Will wants to shout, Cut. He wants silence so badly he could scream. The wind outside is driving him crazy. And then it stops.

  Everyone looks up. There is only the beat of ordinary rain on the windows. The sky begins to clear. The storm has passed.

  “It must have come in over the lake,” Frank Tucker says. “I’ve read about these storms. I think they’re called vertical bursts. They come down suddenly over lakes and the force spreads outward so that—”

  “The lake!” Will says.

  “Fishing …” someone else says.

  “Mac …” Beth says.

  “What?” Melinda says. “Who?”