Little Disquietude

by C. E. Case

  "Tuesday."

  "Why not Sunday? What is there to do in New York on a Monday night?"

  "Very funny. Sunday I'm in a studio. They're putting me on another CD."

  "Tres delicious."

  "Angel got fired from his show," Leah said.

  "Because of his nose?"

  "Yes."

  "I don't know why you hang out with losers, Leah."

  "I don't know. Adam."

  "Very cute."

  "He spent the whole day with me," Leah said.

  "That's because he has no other friends."

  "He's going to be bigger than all of us someday," Leah said.

  "So you say. He's got the voice of an angel. He's the next Euan Morton."

  "So why won't he work with you, is what you're saying?" Leah asked.

  "I know why he won't. And, Leah, he's thirty-five. He's never going to be bigger than us. He'll never live up to your Hugh Laurie expectations."

  "You're projecting."

  "Do you hear me, Leah?"

  "Yes. Don't do drugs."

  "And lay off all the drinking," he said.

  "What am I supposed to do, Adam? I'm an actor. I have demons. Demons, Adam."

  "So act. Put them into your characters so they won't live in you. Hey, I'm writing that down. Oh, and listen, we're sending a car for you on Tuesday. Look for your name."

  She heard him rustling around, searching for paper, and hung up on him.

  * * *

  She put on her sunglasses before walking gingerly down the gangway to the surface of the earth. The terminal rose up before her. She sweated in her leather jacket, which had seemed appropriate in the cool New York air and the freezing air conditioning at LaGuardia.

  Her jeans stuck to her thighs as if they'd been spackled on. She crept toward the terminal, which was too tiny to legitimately be an airport, and through the refreshing air conditioning and onto the street again, where Sophia stood, holding a sign with her last name scrawled across it in purple magic marker.

  "What are you doing here?" Leah asked, as Sophia hugged her.

  "When I was third witch/understudy, this is what I did," Sophia said.

  "You were third witch?"

  "I was very scary," Sophia said.

  "As if."

  "Anyway, Adam sent me."

  "Oh, so it's Adam now."

  "He's interesting. If I spend any more time talking with the Macbeth crowd I'm going to kill them. I've been hearing I only got the part because I was sleeping with Elaine."

  "How is Elaine?"

  Sophia's face fell. She met Leah's eyes, and said, "She's in the hospital again."

  "I'm sorry." Leah put her free hand on Sophia's elbow and hefted her bag up again with the other.

  "It's all right. They're all going to the zoo tomorrow. Photo op. So I thought I'd at least take today and have a change of scenery."

  "So I'm scenery," Leah said.

  "Very nice scenery."

  The low heat that had begun in Leah's abdomen at seeing Sophia spiked into white fire.

  Sophia asked, "How was New York?"

  "I needed a change of scenery, too."

  "Yeah?"

  "It made me appreciate why I'm here."

  Sophia didn't move as Leah leaned in to cup her cheek. Leah kissed her. Sophia responded to Leah's pressure with her own, nuzzling Leah's lips. For a moment, everything was perfect and still, and then Sophia pulled back to study her face.

  Leah let go of Sophia and looked around. If everyone had seen them, they were politely looking away now. She shrugged.

  Sophia kissed her cheek.

  Leah smiled. "I think I know why I'm in Poe now."

  "That was some trip."

  "Well. It was some trip back."

  * * *

  "Hey, Leah," Adam called from the third row. "What do you think of the name Edgar Allen Poetry? Get it?"

  She would have flipped him off but the producers were there to watch the first tech rehearsal. She settled for sighing. "Ha. Ha."

  "Okay, let's do Dream. From the top."

  Leah went to the wings. Ward stood on stage, presumably outside her building, waiting for her to come home. She tried to think of herself in love, scared, thirteen years old, but all that came to her was Sophia. She inhaled, squared her shoulders, then let them slump and went on stage.

  Ward caught her arm. He pulled her around. "Virginia," he said. His voice was low--meant to be a whisper, but no one could whisper on stage. So, just quiet. Library voice. Indoor intensity on the outside stoop in Boston.

  "You shouldn't be here," she said. She pulled out of his grip, and went downstage.

  He was supposed to follow her, but he stayed, and cried out, louder now, "Virginia."

  "You can't be here. This can't happen. It's not real," she said. She thought of saying the words to Sophia, and couldn't think of any reason to say them, not Virginia's reasons--age and propriety and other loves--and yet, her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away.

  Ward, damn him, was still upstage, trying to force her to turn around and see his pain. His want, his desire, naked on his face. And the audience wouldn't see the grief on hers. She said, "Go away."

  "Virginia," he whispered, hoarse and frustrated.

  She turned around, and stalked past him. With her back to the audience, she gave him a little smirk. He seized her arm, and squeezed a little too hard. She yelped.

  "Take this kiss upon the brow," he said, and kissed her temple. His teeth grazed her skin. It felt like a violation. She pushed his chest, and when he let her go, went into the house. Behind the set, she listened to him sing.

  Yet if hope has flown away

  In a night, or in a day,

  In a vision, or in none,

  Is it therefore the less gone?

  She cried, behind the stage, silently where no one could hear her, and then she went to the little fake window, made of plastic. Ward paced the stage, histrionic, brutalized by her little rejection.

  He clenched his fist, and said, "I stand amid the roar of a surf-tormented shore, and I hold within my hand grains of the golden sand."

  Leah watched and listened as the music--Adam's five piece orchestra--created the sound of the ocean. Ward never looked back at her. He raged only for the audience.

  "Bravo," Adam called from the seats as Ward's song ended and he got off his knees. Leah came through the front door. Adam met her eyes, and smiled. "Not in the stage directions, but perfect. The agony of your restraint against whatever was inside you was admirable."

  "She didn't look at me once," Ward said.

  "She didn't have to," Adam said. "You were always right there."

  * * *

  Rehearsal broke around seven-thirty. Leah was so exhausted she'd spent the last two hours crying, off and on, in jagged shuddering. She'd lost her voice. Adam had yelled at her for not being more temperate, for not monitoring herself. So she'd become histrionic, like a rebellious child, never mind that he was right.

  She was too keyed up to go home. If she did, Adam would make tea and she'd go to bed early, only to do it all over again tomorrow morning. That was too depressing to contemplate.

  She had a dress fitting at three the next day. That was too depressing to contemplate, too.

  Her back ached. She settled herself on the brick retaining wall of a yard across the street from the theater and watched the audience appear for Macbeth. There were crowds of people--senior citizens, young parents and children, dating couples--all dressed in Sunday best, greeting each other with long-lost joy. They were treating themselves to a show tonight. Some of them might have waited all year.

  Each of those watchers would feel powerful, catered to, special. They were paying for the privilege of having people perform for them, just them, something their fellow man would never experience; not on that night, not at that time.

  Leah knew the intoxication of being stared at, desired, and loved. She wanted to join the crowd and be a part of its en
ergy. She wanted to see Sophia on stage again.

  The crowds thinned, and then disappeared completely into the theater, leaving the street empty in the last vestiges of daylight. She went to the ticket booth, where they were closing up and counting money.

  "Hey, Leah," Seth said. "You want a ticket?" A summer intern from the community college's theater department, his nose and both ears were pierced, and he had a chorus part in South Pacific.

  "No. Full house tonight?"

  "Oh, yeah. Sold out. All the season ticket holders showed up, too. Fatime looked for empty seats, but they were all gone."

  Fatime, the overweight, smiling high school girl who had just wanted a summer job that didn't involve the food or retail industries, nodded in agreement.

  Leah imagined people waiting months in advance, or maybe years, buying tickets to shows they didn't even care about, just because it might be interesting. And they had no idea they'd be getting someone like Sophia. Only a few knew to hope for Elaine.

  "So, what do you do now that everyone's trapped inside the theater?" Leah asked.

  "Yell fire?" Seth said.

  Fatime shot a rubber band at him.

  He winced and said, "Now we sit around and talk for a half hour, then we start getting the food ready. Snacks for the cast, champagne and candy bars for the tourists at intermission. We point people to the bathrooms, organize the lines. You know."

  "And you guys volunteer for this?"

  Seth grinned. "I get school credit."

  "Part of my parole," Fatime said.

  Leah's eyes widened.

  Fatime winked.

  "In New York, you guys would be unionized," Leah said.

  Seth raised his fist. "Join us, famous actor lady."

  Leah's face grew hot. "I should go," She said.

  "Oh, come on, stay," Fatime said. "Tell us about New York?"

  There was an eagerness in her voice that compelled Leah, so she went behind the desk and sat in an uncomfortable wicker chair, and let herself feel important to two school kids who handed out playbills because they wanted to act.

  * * *

  Fatime cracked the auditorium doors as Macbeth died. Leah felt a pang. Lady Macbeth was already dead. Swarms of people left after the house lights went up, like a wave pouring out of the theater. Some lingered, chatting with each other, or waiting for the actors to make appearances in the lobby. Their family, their friends.

  A couple had flowers for Banquo.

  Sophia walked through the lobby with Oscar, who Leah recognized as Macduff by the boyish haircut and the circles of makeup under his eyes, smeared by his recent anguish. He smiled, leaning in to tease Sophia about something. She elbowed him in the ribs and he danced away, and then circled back, putting his arm around her.

  Leah watched, torn between possessiveness and paralysis. Sophia spotted her and smiled.

  As they walked closer, Leah moved to intercept them. "Hey," she said.

  "Hi," Sophia said. She hugged Leah, and asked, "Did you see the show tonight?"

  "No, I was just hanging around after a late rehearsal."

  "That's good," Oscar said. "You missed a doozy."

  "Oh?"

  Sophia glared at him, but Oscar grinned and said, "Someone forgot her lines."

  "Someone threw my timing off."

  "Well, tonight it wasn't about the seduction of a man," Oscar said. "It was about getting through lines without choking. And yet, dude, standing ovation. People over appreciate us."

  "Or there's power in simply being," Leah said. She had her hand on Sophia's shoulder. Sophia leaned into her, just enough to let her know she was pressing back, seeking more. Leah brushed her thumb against Sophia's arm. Sophia flashed her a smile.

  "Drinks, ladies?" Oscar asked.

  Leah was tempted, but hanging out in the theater for three hours had tempered her exhaustion into mere fatigue. She shook her head.

  "Tomorrow," Sophia said. "Tonight I'm going to soak in a hot tub."

  "And?" Oscar prodded.

  "And read my lines," she said, and scowled at him.

  Leah grinned.

  Sophia shot her a glance. "Memorizing is hard."

  "Everything's hard about Shakespare," Leah said.

  "See?"

  Oscar shrugged. He squeezed Sophia's forearm and kissed Leah's cheek and went to deign to talk to the crowd waiting for him. To thank him for his Macduff, for pouring out his heart on the stage, and making them think of their children.

  "What do you think Shakespeare would have thought of psychology?" Leah asked.

  Sophia turned her head to put her chin on Leah's fingers. "He would have a justification for why we are all so much less than we aspire to be."

  "Deep."

  "I take issue with his barren woman leads to madness idea, though," Sophia said.

  "I think you need to take that up with Freud."

  "If I'm talking about anything with Freud, I'm starting with my mother."

  "I don't know anything about your mother," Leah said.

  Sophia frowned. She pulled away from Leah slightly. "My mother's--my mother."

  "Let me walk you home," Leah said.

  Sophia raised her eyebrows.

  "Just to the door of the roach motel."

  Sophia smiled. Leah turned to the lobby exit. Once on the street, Leah bumped Sophia as they walked, close enough to brush against each other. Leah grasped Sophia's wrist, and slid her fingers down to intertwine with Sophia's. The answering squeeze Sophia gave her hand thrilled her. She squeezed back. She wanted to win more response in Sophia, to see the pleasure flush Sophia's cheeks, to make her smile, to be the cause of it.

  At the sliding doors of the hotel, they stood to the side, away from direct light. Leah turned down an offer of pot and a party from men passing through the doors, and then from Sophia's fellow cast, returning for the night. Sophia giggled.

  "I should go have tea," Leah said. "I talked all night. That's probably the last time I can do that for a while."

  "Okay," Sophia said. She looked at the door, and then back at Leah.

  Leah couldn't think of anything relevant to say. She tilted her head and went with the obvious. "I'm sure you were good tonight."

  Sophia chuckled. "I'm sure I'll be good tomorrow night."

  Leah leaned in. She waited for Sophia to draw back, to hesitate, but Sophia's smile remained, so Leah kissed her. Sophia's lips gently pressed back. Leah pulled on Sophia and brought her into a hug. Sophia rubbed her back. The kiss remained chaste, and Sophia tilted her chin to kiss the corner of Leah's mouth instead, and then pressed her face into Leah's neck.

  The brush of Sophia's lips against her throat made Leah shiver. She was so aroused, so suddenly, that she clutched Sophia until Sophia murmured against her throat, "So, are we dating?"

  "Yes," Leah said, because she wanted it to be true.

  Sophia nodded against her neck.

  Leah swallowed. "Next time, invite me up."

  Sophia slid her hand up between them to cup Leah's neck. "Okay."

  Leah pulled back to find her mouth again, and kissed her more deeply, so that Sophia's lips parted against hers. Sophia bit into her upper lip, and Leah's tongue flicked out, to protect herself instinctively, and met Sophia's. She shivered, and kissed Sophia harder. Sophia murmured a plea, and Leah broke the kiss, her whole body throbbing with need.

  Sophia stepped back, toward the lobby door, and smiled shyly at Leah. She went inside.

  Leah exhaled. She closed her eyes against the hot air, and tried to quell her heartbeat, tried to ignore the internalized expectation that this was all fleeting and therefore would hurt her, perhaps too soon, that ruin here would ruin everything around her. Then she surveyed the neighborhood around her, and thought of the time, and began to walk the six blocks back to her house, as quickly as she could.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "This trip is supposed to be about your big break in a musical, not some romance," Adam said over breakfast.

>   "Rehearsals are boring."

  "Not if you have the distinct terror of failure."

  Leah smiled at him.

  "Oh, stop."

  "Let's go," Leah said, finishing off her orange juice. "I want to sing."

  "Sing what?" Adam asked. He reluctantly got up from the table and gathered his portfolio, shoving sheet music into it, loose leaf, and a handful of red and blue pens.

  "I was aroused from sleep by the cry of fire. The curtains of my bed were in flames," Leah said, nearly humming the words, sending them up and down the scales.

  "That's not actually in the musical. Have you been reading on your own?"

  Leah winked. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and went to the door.

  "Leah. You do care!"

  She stepped out into the sunlight and said, "I do."

  * * *

  After five hours of rehearsal, she was flat on her back on the stage, panting. Sweat on her arms and palms sealed her to the wood.

  "Leah, you're ruining the costume," Adam said.

  "I'm supposed to be lying like this," she mumbled. Her throat burned. She swallowed, and the saliva cooled her, and then the pain began anew. She swallowed again, but her mouth was dry.

  "Yes, but you're not supposed to lie in it eternally. Come on, Macbeth needs the stage. They're doing put-ins."

  Leah rolled to her knees and began patting her hair. Then she frowned at Adam. "Are you just fucking with--"

  The auditorium doors burst open and the cast of Macbeth poured in, coming down the aisles. Leah got to her feet.

  Adam folded his arms.

  Leah came to the edge of the stage and said, "I'm going to shower, then."

  "Wait," Adam said. He vaulted onto the stage and said, "I have opera tickets."

  Ward eagerly scurried over. "When?"

  "Monday," Adam said. "Before South Pacific and Macbeth run their last weeks. It'll be our last chance for anything fun before dress and opening night."