Little Disquietude

by C. E. Case

  Leah turned around on the first step and met his eyes. "I hate you, you know."

  "All the better to make you cry."

  "Bastard."

  "It's all Method. What's your style, trial and error?"

  "A good director," she snapped back.

  He smiled.

  She bunched her fists and stormed up the stairs. He was right; Sophia's scent was everywhere. Kisses had dried on her skin. She'd woken up to Sophia's sweat. In the shower she scrubbed with Ivory soap, so that the makeup and costume people wouldn't complain as they primped her, so that Ward wouldn't make comments when his lips touched hers.

  But everything inside her lingered. Sophia's tongue in her mouth. The warmth in her stomach. The tingling in her fingertips. Everything Virginia was supposed to feel, that Poe must have felt, writing down the words. If she carried Sophia to the stage with her, maybe it would all work out.

  She looked at herself in the mirror after wiping the fog away. She traced the wrinkle at the corner of her eye. The makeup artist would cover it up. Her dresser would wax her eyebrows. There were bags under her eyes. Her lips still felt swollen. She prodded them, and then chewed on the tip of her finger.

  Ward was gone by the time she got downstairs, so she went back out into the sunshine alone. The modest houses across the street startled her, the trees seemed indulgent. Never would she get used to not seeing buildings--those comforts of civilization. They were doing Poe in the wilderness.

  And it was sold out.

  * * *

  The final dress rehearsal had gone beautifully. Ward was right there with her, present and hateful and passionate. She'd called upon her voice and didn't miss a single note. When she sang, the audience had been perfectly still. When she sighed, she felt them sighing with her.

  "We should have an audience more often," Leah had said to Adam.

  "Spoken like a true leading lady."

  She'd rolled her eyes. Adam hugged her and said, "The audience is going to come in from now on. Every day." She smiled. He kissed each of her cheeks and said, "Twice on Saturday."

  * * *

  Leah sipped lemonade. She sat on the front porch, pretending. Trying to let herself melt into the humid, sunny evening. Macbeth was going on in a few minutes. Leah hadn't realized that it started in daylight and ended in darkness. The lemonade rushed coolly down her throat, settled in her stomach, grounded her.

  Poe had taken everything out of her, had given it away, and left her feeling hollow, and exhausted, and so tense she couldn't rest. Adam, despite his pages of notes after the rehearsal, felt as if he'd seen something come alive on stage. Something now living. He was so happy. He would give the judgment--good or bad--to other people. For him, creation was enough.

  No one else was out on the other porches, though the swings were there, and the lawn furniture, and children's toys and bicycles and the occasional refrigerator. All that stuff, waiting to be inhabited. She took a sip of her drink. A car passed. She raised her glass. The driver waved.

  "Neat," she said.

  The phone rang. The ring tone was one she hadn't heard in a long time, obnoxious and jarring, and she'd never admit to anyone it was her favorite song, or that Grace had covered it at a benefit, low and smoky, completely belying the original tune, making everyone laugh. Grace had belonged to everyone that night, but she'd kissed Leah in the dressing room, with fresh flowers covering every surface.

  "Hello?"

  "Leah?" Grace's voice. Leah didn't fall off the chair, or break into a million pieces. She took a sip of lemonade. Except for the low, dull anger in the pit of her stomach, only there if she bothered to search for it, Leah's nerves felt perfectly okay. She exhaled.

  "Yeah. Hi," Leah said.

  "Is this a bad time?"

  "No, no. I'm just--enjoying the night."

  "What?" Grace asked. She had that actress voice, that Bette Davis darling voice that made Leah picture long cigarette holders and stage makeup and Times Square. She had three albums out.

  "I'm on the front porch. Drinking lemonade. Thinking about life."

  "My God."

  "Yeah, well." Leah jangled the ice in her glass.

  "Look, Leah," Grace said, and that's how Leah knew she was calling about business. She sighed. Grace continued, "I did a reading for this thing, last year, this swashbuckler thing--"

  "Hasn't that already been done?"

  "Not successfully," Grace said. "Anyhow, they're doing a three week workshop, looking at launching in the spring, and I put your name in for it."

  "Doing what?"

  "A witch?"

  "Like, double double toil and trouble?"

  "Yeah. Creepy. Dark. Goth. You'll like the song, though. I can fax over the sheet music. Do they have faxes, um, where you are?"

  "Yes. And indoor plumbing. And HBO."

  "Leah."

  Grace had never liked her wit and during the time they were together, Leah had practiced being kinder and more patient with people. Even though no one knew exactly why. She'd gotten compliments from producers and fans alike--"She's so nice. She's so generous." And then when she and Grace ended their relationship, all the sarcasm came back, released with vengeance upon the world. She'd had a lot to make up for. She smiled grimly and gave Grace the fax number for the house.

  "Thank you," Grace said. "I think this part is really you. When can you meet with the casting agent?"

  "Next week I can fly up on my day off."

  "He'll call."

  "Fabulous."

  "Well, that's all. Good luck in two days?"

  "Thanks, Grace," Leah said, trying not to sound bitter. Her tone was habit more than feeling, just the instinctive stance she went into whenever they talked. She silently asked forgiveness. To ask forgiveness out loud would just cause a fight.

  "Break a leg," Grace said, and chuckled.

  Leah frowned, remembering what it was like to be nice to people, and said, in her best kind voice, "Thank you, Grace. It's good to go home to the promise of work."

  "Like I said, you'll be great for the part. Goodnight, Leah."

  "Goodnight, Gracie."

  Grace huffed, and hung up. She'd always hated that. Leah smiled to herself. The sun had set, and the light had become grey. Leah went inside. She poured the ice and lemonade into the sink, put the glass in the dishwasher, and leaned on the counter. The tension had left her, and Grace's call, though meaningless, was slightly reinvigorating. She shook herself. In a couple of hours, she'd go to the Macbeth closing night party, but it was too early to start getting ready.

  The house was quiet. Adam was still asleep upstairs and Ward was gone. Leah settled in at the piano. She put aside the Poe sheet music and rummaged through the books on top. There were no basic books of show tunes, so she settled for movie themes, and played Terms of Endearment as quietly as she could and hummed along.

  She played until the sky outside was pitch black and Adam stumbled downstairs in his rumpled clothing. "Party tonight?"

  "Yeah," Leah said.

  "You seem--I don't think I've ever seen you play the piano."

  "One note at a time," Leah said.

  Adam took a beer from the fridge and twisted off the top. "Want one?"

  Leah shook her head.

  "It's kind of nice here," Adam said, looking at the window.

  "Calm before the storm," Leah said. "I was on the porch, earlier."

  "Did anyone shoot at you?"

  "No. But Grace called. She offered me work."

  "Really?" Adam raised an eyebrow.

  "Really. I'm going to at least meet with the agent."

  Adam nodded. "I've been approached to consult on a reading here. Some guy from the coast. Want in? I don't know if they have any female parts, yet."

  "Sure." Leah lowered her voice. "Or I could be a man."

  Adam raised his beer bottle, and said, "A consummate actress."

  Leah grinned. She put the movie book back on the top of the piano, and got up.

&nbs
p; "How's Grace?" Adam asked, watching her.

  "I didn't ask. But she sounded fine."

  Adam nodded. "And how's Sophia?"

  Leah's face broke into a smile before she could even think of a noncommittal response. She blushed furiously, and before she could say, "How should I know?" Adam was already waving her off.

  "You'll be there tonight, then?"

  "Yes," Leah said. That she could answer, and definitively. She went upstairs, ignoring his grin as she passed.

  He called, "Let me do your makeup!"

  "I'm not twelve," she shouted back.

  "Let me anyway? Tonight's a night to glitter and be gay."

  Thanks to Adam, she ended up singing "Candide" in the shower, and still had the operetta stuck in her head as they left for the party. Adam led her to the car.

  "Where are we going?"

  "They rented a restaurant downtown."

  "We're downtown," Leah said, though clearly she saw the houses and trees that surrounded them.

  "There's a whole city out there, Leah. Durham." Adam waved his hand with flourish.

  "If it's over two miles away it's not the same city," Leah said. She walked to the theater each morning, she'd walked to the club with Sophia, and the donut shop, and she presumed she could walk to the gas station on the corner if she needed survival supplies. Die Fledermaus didn't count because that was in another city--like going to Albany. But driving to a restaurant just...wasn't done. "Can't we take a cab like normal people?" she asked.

  "Honey, I promise there'll be food, and you smell exceptionally good, and everything will be all right."

  "All right." She got into the car.

  Adam settled into the driver's seat. "Buckle your seatbelt," he said.

  "What?"

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Leah scanned for Sophia as Adam pushed into the crowd at Thyme, but she didn't see Sophia, and instead saw one of the South Pacific producers, with a stage hand on his arm, who said "Leah Fisher, isn't it?"

  She shook his hand and nodded.

  "Pleased to make your acquaintance. We're all so excited about Poe."

  "Are you coming?" she asked, dumbly, still scanning for Sophia. She tugged distractedly at the strap of her halter dress. Velvet in a casual cut made an impression, Adam said, but she was afraid she'd get a rash. The merlot-shaded fabric, though, blended with the crowd dressed mostly in black. Rented tuxes and little black dresses for most of the crowd, black jeans and skin-tight T-shirts for the crew, who didn't care anymore, and just wanted to get drunk on a night when they didn't have to go to work in the morning.

  "Opening night, of course," the producer said. She tried to remember his name. Paul?

  "You'll have a wonderful time."

  "No doubt," he said.

  They smiled at each other and he inclined his head, and wandered off to the next celebrity. Leah breathed. She went further into the crowd, and shook hands with an actor she knew, and someone she didn't know who turned out to be a benefactor, there with the mayor. He asked for her vote. She just nodded and smiled.

  Meet, greet, go. She used to give out business cards; she didn't anymore. Industry contacts were not made at parties. Impressions were made. If they remembered her, they'd seek her out. She had come for one reason, and it was a better reason than any she'd had in previous parties.

  And there she was. Sophia, standing next to Elaine, who sat in a wheelchair, covered in blankets, smiling grandly and sipping champagne. Sophia wore a black gown, floor-length, strapless, that Leah had not seen her wear before. Her hair, a matching shade of black, was piled on top of her head. Leah started toward her, just as Sophia's attention was entranced by a man who seemed to be asking her to dance.

  Sophia demurred. Leah felt relief, and then guilt at her own jealousy, but really, who danced at parties anymore? Macduff's henchmen appeared at Sophia's side and said something that made her laugh. She lifted her drink to them. Leah arrived, and let her hand slide across Sophia's back as she knelt to greet Elaine.

  "There's only one question to ask a famous actress," Leah said.

  "I'm afraid to know, darling," Elaine said.

  Leah tugged at her neckline, and asked, "Would you sign my boob?"

  Sophia, still talking to Eric, kicked Leah.

  "I'm afraid I don't have a pen."

  Leah did her best impression of a sad face, which must have worked, as Elaine frowned. She said, "I could touch your boob."

  Sophia kicked Leah again.

  "Ow. Hey, I didn't say that. Kick Elaine! Kick the woman in the wheelchair," Leah said. She stood, and squeezed Elaine's hand.

  Adam shouted, "Leah!"

  "Duty calls. It was nice seeing you."

  "You, too." Elaine lifted her chin and beamed at Leah. "It's so nice to go to a party and see a new face, for once. The same old scene gets so old."

  "I know exactly how you feel. Come to New York sometime, be my show-and-tell."

  Elaine sighed, and said, "I would, Miss Fisher, but it's so cold in New York." She drew her blanket around her and her hand shook. She looked away from Leah. Leah brushed Sophia's elbow and went to Adam. When she looked back, Sophia smiled beatifically at her.

  Adam said, "Leah, I'd like you to meet Joshua Litton. He's the regional theater editor of the Atlanta New Day."

  "You've come a long way," Leah said.

  "There's a bit more money for regional theater in Georgia, but I hear North Carolina sure would like to put itself on the map," Joshua said. He was a big, overweight man, with a Southern accent that made Leah think of Senators. She tried not to giggle as she shook his hand. He said, "I'm interested in what compels the New York crowd to come down here, when it's not obviously a try-out situation."

  "Why do you think it's not a try-out?" Adam asked.

  "Because you don't have those kind of backers, Mr. Grenald. And because Durham doesn't have that kind of audience. I can't imagine any city in North Carolina being able to host an out-of-town."

  Adam grinned. "But Atlanta?"

  "Absolutely. And is this your leading lady?" Joshua asked.

  Leah glanced at Adam.

  Adam said, "I already told him the Triangle is where the money was. That's why he decided to ask an actress."

  "Because we don't have any money?"

  "Exactly," Joshua said. "I can't quite believe Grenald here, when I don't see 'Funded by RTP' on any of your playbills."

  Leah smiled and said, "While it is true, Mr. Litton, that Manhattan is the center of the universe, it's a big universe. The same instinct that drives me to act--to be different people, to transport myself and the audience to different places--is the same instinct that compels me to do it all for real."

  "And what instinct is that?" Joshua asked.

  "The drive for self-actualization," Leah said.

  "Thank you. A well-trained woman you have there, Mr. Grenald."

  "She sings, too."

  They chuckled together, and then Joshua went to talk to Elaine, and Adam and Leah sagged in relief.

  "I wanted to say that we vomit our innards onto the page," Adam said, "and the other dogs come and lick it up. How's that for quotable?"

  Leah shrugged. Freed from responsibility, however briefly Adam would let her be, Leah turned to watch Sophia.

  "She looks lovely," Adam said.

  "I'm going to seduce her tonight."

  "I don't think you'll have to do that much seducing," Adam said.

  "Still, she deserves it."

  Adam kissed her cheek." So do you."

  She was used to taking compliments from strangers, of course, but from friends, it felt different. She knew for some, like Adam, hooking up at a strange party in a same city was easy. His beginnings with Ward were effortless, even if things were falling apart now. Leah had done the circuit enough to know what felt good and what didn't, and what she wanted, but rarely did she have any chance to stand across the room from someone and ache for them.

  She was going to take this
chance. She looked at Adam, but he was gone, presumably chatting up someone who could pay for his dreams. She turned back to Sophia, who caught her eye across the room, and then blushed and looked away.

  Leah made her way across the room. Eventually the crowd would thin around her; the night would grow later. Those who had been in the show went home to sleep off the exertion and the adrenaline. Only the backers would stay, to celebrate their wealth with the open bar, to clap the composers and directors on the back, and take what credit they could.

  Sophia didn't glance her way again, keeping her attention instead fully on the deputy mayor, who had her hand clasped.

  "Leah, I'd like you to meet Adrian Foster, and his wife, Teela," Sophia said.

  Leah smiled and shook their hands. Adrian Foster had silver hair but seemed young otherwise, smiling and fit and tan. His wife was even younger, and African American, and kept staring at Sophia like she was a statue of Aphrodite come to life.

  "We saw Sophia as Lady Macbeth," Teela said. "It makes me want to go home and watch all the Shakespeare I can. I forget how powerful his plays can be."

  Leah said, "I know. Theater is about being lucky to be in the right place at the right time to see moments that will never be recreated."

  "Exactly," Adrian said.

  "Leah's in the new musical," Sophia said. "Are you going to see it?"

  The disdain that crossed Adrian's face made Leah's stomach sink, though Teela stepped in to say, "No, we can only really catch one or two performances a season due to other engagements."

  "I guess life is picking and choosing your moments of wonder," Sophia said, not unkindly, and Teela patted her, gave her one more wistful look, and led her husband to talk to the owner of Bernie's Hardware, who may or may not question his artistic integrity, but at least it wouldn't be from the perspective of a starving actor he had to look in the eye.

  "Hm," Leah said.

  Sophia smiled.

  "You look beautiful." Leah clasped Sophia's hand. Sophia glanced around, but didn't pull away. She blushed. Pink tinted her cheeks. Leah wanted to take Sophia's chin in her free hand and kiss her. Her lips burned for it. Instead, she squeezed Sophia's hand and said, "Really."