by C. E. Case
Ward said, "Adam wasn't interrupting you every five seconds."
"I wasn't making mistakes."
"Or maybe you were just too hopeless to deal with."
"I'm not--" The onslaught of fury brought tears. Some deep part of Leah echoed Ward's dismissal and by extension, Adam's. She turned to the piano.
Ward did, also.
Adam frowned and glanced at the sheet music on the stage. "Let's skip to the next song. I want to be out of here by lunch."
Leah stepped to center stage. She ignored Ward and listened to the piano. However poor Ward might think her talent, the song belonged to her.
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring…
* * *
Theater volunteers had brought potluck for South Pacific's final dress rehearsal. Leah helped herself to fried chicken and then went outside to guiltily eat it in the heat of the sun. Maybe if she melted Adam could find a new Virginia for his project, instead of one he had to keep yelling to, "Sweeter. Why can't you look sweeter?"
Reading and eating fried chicken simultaneously proved impossible, so she ate, wiped at her hands as best she could, and then picked up the book. If she got grease on the pages, no one would miss it.
"What are you reading?"
"The Prince of Patagonia," Leah said with flourish. Then she looked up to see who had asked, shading her eyes with the book.
Sophia stood on the top step of the theater, smiling. "Is it hot?"
"I don't know. I promised myself this time I wouldn't just skip to the juicy bits," Leah said. "Maybe they'll be better if they have build-up, or something."
Sophia nodded." I'm late for rehearsal, so--"
"Break a leg."
"Thanks."
Leah put down her book, wrapped her arms around her knees, and tried to guess which house across the street might be a crack house, from the amount of traffic going in and out on a Thursday afternoon.
Chapter Six
South Pacific opened.
Leah sat in the back row with Adam and elbowed him as hard as she could during "I'm Going to Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair." He hummed along.
"Adam," she said.
"What? I like musicals."
She rolled her eyes in the dark.
The after party was at a mostly closed restaurant three blocks away. Leah talked to each person she ran into for about three seconds each and was relieved to spot Sophia across the room. Sophia wore black slacks and a black, low-cut top and looked ready for both an evening of dancing and for a rehearsal. Leah let herself be impressed.
"Some evening, you know? It's like--alluring?" Sophia asked when she drew near, smiling.
Leah wanted to say that she loved that smile, and the words were on the tip of her tongue. Sophia, though, was looking at her oddly, so she licked her lips instead and asked, "How's Macbeth?"
"I don't want to talk about Mac," Sophia said.
Leah nodded. "I hate my co-star."
"Ward?"
"You know him?"
"I've seen him around."
"Oh." Leah exhaled.
"So, how's your book?" Sophia asked.
Leah warmed at Sophia's remembering. "Oh. Demetrius, that's the prince, fell off his horse and into a pond, and that's how he met Brenda, who has no idea he's a prince, she just thinks he's a stupid rider."
Sophia chuckled. Then silence overtook them. Leah knew she should go, that it was polite to mingle, that they'd had their shot at conversation and had been reduced to the romance novel. But Adam came up to them and, as Sophia laughed at something he said, her bare arm brushed Leah's, and a charge went through her, a heat she hadn't felt since the first time she'd worked with Grace. She swallowed hard, unwilling to give up just yet.
Adam went on his way to talk to the director of South Pacific, and Leah turned to Sophia. "Where are you from? I don't think we ever got that far."
"Jacksonville," Sophia said. "My mother's Haitian and never quite got out of Florida. I was in Charlotte, doing post-graduate work in theater for a year, that's how I met Elaine."
"I never knew there was so much going on in North Carolina."
"I've been trying to break into the national tours. Without much success. But I'm making enough to eat. If I don't think about the student loans," Sophia said, and looked resigned. She spoke with a seriousness that belied her age, and Leah could already imagine her onstage, intense, with presence.
"God, how old are you?" Leah cringed. "Sorry."
Sophia bumped shoulders with Leah, which made Leah nearly faint, and said, "Twenty-five."
"And still trying to break in?"
"Trying. You?"
"It's the same in New York. Instead of tours, just Broadway. And us, 'Off.'" Leah said. She noticed she was talking in sentences twice as long as Sophia's, and tried to rein in her chattiness. If Sophia preferred the stillness she herself exuded, Leah's chances were hopeless.
"Adam seems so talented," Sophia said.
"He really, really is. But it's business. And hey, aren't you?"
Sophia pirouetted. "Yes, I am."
"We get enough work to keep going."
"So we'll keep going. It's nice to meet someone from New York. Everyone here is leading a different life than what I want."
Ward was across the room, schmoozing the producers, and Leah thought about his dreams. She understood, finally, homesickness. "To goals, then," she said. She offered up her glass.
Sophia clinked it with hers. "And to not having anything to fall back on."
"Well, except family."
"Except family." Sophia took a sip of her drink.
"I guess nothing makes me want to succeed more than that," Leah said. She made a face, and finished off her drink, and Sophia laughed and leaned into her arm.
They stood together, chatting about far-off places, as people came up to them to introduce themselves.
Later, walking home with Adam, Leah realized that Macbeth opened in two days, and Poe tech rehearsals started tomorrow, and there would be no way she'd have time with Sophia again. The words to "Some Enchanted Evening" stayed stuck in her head until she fell asleep.
* * *
"You're brooding," Adam said at breakfast.
"I'm hung over."
"You had one glass of fruit punch last night."
"Fine. I have a crush on someone," Leah said. She wanted to talk about it, to make herself feel less crazy. This wasn't why she had come to North Carolina. Some people wrote it all out--like Adam, she supposed--some people brooded. She talked. To anyone who would listen, and Adam had been stupid enough to make breakfast.
"On who?"
Leah glared at him. He folded his arms. She stabbed her fork into the eggs. The metal clanged against the ceramic plate. He shrugged and said, "I'll figure it out."
"I'm sure you will."
"Want to read the review of South Pacific?" He tapped the folded copy of the Durham News-Star on the table.
"Just tell me the good parts," Leah said.
"The avant garde staging and the sense of nostalgia in a similarly war-torn era remind us all of the timelessness of our humanity."
"Jesus," Leah said.
Adam nodded. "Sure as hell hope he likes Poe."
"Don't you have the reviews you want written in your head already?"
"Sure. But those will never, ever see the light of day."
Leah covered his hand on the table with hers, and kept eating.
He squeezed her fingers gently and said, "At least the musical will."
"Does it feel like giving birth?"
"I have no fucking clue."
* * *
The set designer yelled at Leah not to break anything. She stood gingerly in the center of the stage, surrounded by fabric. Her jeans and sweatshirt belied the opulence behind her, but Ward, wearing an undershirt and sweatpants, at least
kept her company. They sang together. They stopped, they started. Leah began to feel like she knew what she was doing. She could close her eyes and let the century slip away from her.
Adam, conducting the five piece orchestra he'd put together, smiled up at her and she hit the harder notes. Ward's touches were more in the moment than inappropriate and when she ducked his kisses and he sang wounded songs to her, she felt her face grow warm.
"That's a wrap," Adam said at seven, and the crew and the musicians followed them home to sing around the piano and drink, laugh and eat pizza.
Leah settled onto the porch long after the sun had set. She listened to the crickets and the frogs, beyond the singing behind her, and let the heat invade her skin, and inhaled deeply, letting happiness fill her.
* * *
"Jeremy, come on," Leah said, leaning against the ticket window.
"Honey, it's sold out. It's Shakespeare. People dig that shit."
"I'm not just a civilian, you know."
"It's opening night. Next week I can hook you up, girlfriend."
Leah pressed her face against the glass.
"Here," a voice said behind Jeremy. Leah opened her eyes. Sophia slid a ticket toward her.
"Thanks," Leah said.
"You want to see me that bad?" Sophia asked. She had on worn blue jeans and what looked like the same top from the South Pacific party and no makeup. Still, Lady Macbeth lurked within her, somewhere behind her eyes.
Leah grinned. "You're in this?"
"Just like Eve is kind of in the Bible."
Leah tapped the ticket against her lips." Thanks, again."
"No problem. My mom couldn't make it." Sophia's face fell, and she disappeared into the theater. Jeremy looked after her and sighed. Leah gave him a sympathetic look and ran off to find her seat.
An older, gaunt woman in several layers of shawl and overcoat that still managed to show she was too thin was sitting next to her, and Leah ventured to ask, "Elaine?"
Elaine smiled. She had bright blue eyes that met Leah's without hesitation. "Do I know you?" she asked.
"No. Sophia comped me the ticket, and I just thought--"
"She's a good kid," Elaine said.
"I guess we'll finally get to see," Leah said.
Chapter Seven
Sophia shook the stage. Her love for Macbeth was as palpable as her love of power. Her ambition felt like raw need.
Leah feared her. Her cajoling was cruel, and her youth only added to her soulless, vulture-like character; her seduction of an older man, her barrenness.
Leah trembled. Elaine's breathing stopped and started next to her. A gasp. Then silence, so that Macbeth's words thudded without obstacle through the auditorium.
When Leah found Sophia at the after party, all she could think of to say was, "A tale told by an idiot."
Sophia's smile was polite, but not the kind Leah had won from her before, and behind it there was a tinge of sadness that seemed to fade when Leah followed up with, "You were amazing."
"Thanks."
"Really amazing, actually," Leah said, with a rush of headiness.
Sophia laughed. "All right, all right."
The play had made Leah's skin crawl and she'd cried, afraid to wipe her cheeks in case the gesture gave her away. She wanted to seize Sophia and kiss her in gratitude for the emotion, also to have a place to channel it. She knew the swollen, alive feeling would ebb, and that she'd have to seek it out again. Already the scenes replaying in her head had lost their force, like worn photocopies or videotape.
Leah wondered if this is how people would feel if they saw her in Poe.
Sophia gently took her wrist and said, "I'm glad you came. I wanted you to see--" She paused.
"What?"
Sophia dropped her hand and shrugged. "Me."
"The understudies are always good. People forget that," Leah said.
"Even the understudies."
"Please. The only person with more 'tude around here is Ward."
"You haven't met our director," Sophia said.
Leah noticed, as the cast and crew swarmed about, and the press took pictures and asked for quotes, that though people came up to Sophia to congratulate her, even to gush, no one lingered.
When Elaine came, kissing each of Sophia's cheeks, Sophia became shy. Coquettish. Leah thought she recognized the chemistry between them and wandered away, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat. Ward and Adam had already left. She went to the bar and talked to everyone there, and then when she'd run out of new faces she went back to say goodnight to Sophia.
Sophia gave Leah a wan smile, looking tired. "I'm ready to go, too."
"Timing," Leah said, "is everything."
"I read that somewhere," Sophia said as they strolled toward the doors.
"Where do you live?" Leah asked.
"The Days Inn."
The Days Inn was four blocks in the other direction from her house, and through the worst part of their bad neighborhood. Come home with me, Leah wanted to say, thinking it was too soon for any bold statements. And yet, the opportunity was here. "Come home with me," Leah said, and as Sophia demurred, added, "Adam will drive you home from there."
"It's only four blocks. Isn't your place like, twice as far?"
"Further away from the crack dealers, though. It's midnight, and it's Friday, and I'm not going to walk you home."
The fear that flashed through Sophia's expression made Leah feel cruel. "Please. Live a little. See our amazing rental."
Sophia scanned the crowd, presumably for someone else. She shrugged and said, "I'd ask John, but his car smells like pot."
"I assure you that Adam's does not."
"That's good to hear."
"He only smokes inside the house."
Sophia snorted.
Leah put her hand on Sophia's back and, at Sophia's acquiescence, led her out into the night. The walk was too short. Conversation started and then they were climbing the steps to the dark house. Adam's bedroom window had shown no light, so Leah apologetically let Sophia into the kitchen and said she would look for the keys.
She deduced they were in Adam's room and pushed her ear against his door. She heard grunting coming from inside and hoarse, urgent cries. She rolled her eyes and descended the stairs. Sophia had settled at the kitchen table and, though Variety was open before her, had her head on her elbow and seemed mostly asleep.
"Sophia," Leah said, touching her arm.
"Hm?"
"Adam's got someone upstairs. I think you should stay here tonight."
"Hm."
"On the couch."
"It's only ten blocks," Sophia said.
"It'll be a nicer walk on a sunny morning."
"I can't impose."
"It's a leather couch," Leah said.
"I don't even know you," Sophia said sleepily. She straightened up to rub her eyes and squeeze the bridge of her nose. She wore an evening gown and her hair had fallen and her makeup was gone from her cheeks, and smeared under her eyes.
"Get to know me over breakfast," Leah said.
Sophia's lips curved into a smile. "Where's the couch?"
"This way." Leah tugged at her hands. Sophia stood. Leah pulled her into the living room. Sophia opened her eyes. She saw the piano, the bookcases, the television, the couch.
"We have cable," Leah said.
Sophia fell onto the couch. She sighed, sat up, and took off her shoes.
"Do you want tea?" Leah asked.
"Water?"
Leah went into the kitchen. When she came back with a bottle of Evian, Sophia had taken off her dress and folded it on the end of the couch, and wrapped herself in the blanket that had lain along its back. She sat, Buddha-like, and accepted the water.
"Will you be all right?" Leah asked.
"Yes. I'm just going to sit for a while, and think about my life."
"Okay." Leah went to the stairs, and stopped on the first one to say, "I'll see you in the morning."
&nbs
p; Sophia raised her bottle in toast. "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow."
"Creeps in this petty pace," Leah said, going up the stairs, counting each one.
She kicked off her shoes and took off her own dress, and pulled on the nearest robe before she collapsed into bed, ignoring the blankets, letting the fan send feeble waves of cool air over her back.
She waited to fall asleep with a lightness in her chest, an easing, knowing Sophia was nearby.
* * *
Screaming awoke Leah, along with the realization that she'd forgotten to tell Adam that someone else was here, and that she'd forgotten to inquire as to who was in Adam's bedroom. She knew she wouldn't make it to the living room fast enough to take back the screaming.
Robe billowing, she flew down the stairs and nearly ran into Ward. He caught her by the arms. "Morning," he said.
"Hello." She doubled over, panting, and asked, "Is Sophia all right?"
"Sophia is getting some orange juice," Sophia said, walking by them, wearing Adam's bathrobe. Adam, in white T-shirt and shorts, was blushing furiously and staring at Leah.
"You were busy," Leah said.
Adam looked guilty.
Bert, the set designer, came through the front door. "Good morning, ladies." He looked surprised, but Sophia handed him the quart of orange juice, and he shrugged and settled down at the table.
Leah went back upstairs to shower.
Chapter Eight
Leah, Adam, Ward, and Sophia walked to the theater together. Then Sophia went past it, explaining that she was going to sleep in her own bed. Now that Macbeth was playing nightly there were only a few put-in rehearsals in the afternoons.
Adam took Ward and Leah to the prop room.
"I know you can act and sing," he said. "But can you act and sing with stuff?"
"You know I've got stuff," Ward said, shaking his hips.