Crossing

by Stacey Wallace Benefiel

  “Yeah, but like I said,” he whispers, “no big deal. It’s an assignment.”

  “So there’s no way,” I whisper back, “that you would actually kiss me in real life. Is what you’re saying?”

  He pulls at his hair, but doesn’t raise his voice. “Jesus, I’m not saying anything. Will you just chill the fuck out and stop acting like I’m insulting you all the time? I barely know you, so no, I’m not going to stress over a kiss in a scene for a class. Not because I think you’re gross or unkissable. Because I haven’t thought about or wanted to kiss anyone lately. Okay?”

  “Have I mentioned that I’m an asshole?”

  He shakes his head and scrubs his hands over his face. “You have.”

  “Let me buy you a coffee after class to make up for my assholism.”

  “I can’t. But I’ll take a rain check. And that’s really exactly what I mean. I have a prior commitment and I will go to coffee with you another time.”

  We go back to pretending to watch what’s happening on stage.

  The open scenes end and Liam stands, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. I grab my bag and drop my sweater onto the floor. He picks it up and hands it to me.

  “Should I just keep this in my bag since you can’t seem to keep track of it?”

  I take it from him and cram it into my backpack and climb over my chair.

  He nods at me. “See you on Friday.”

  “Hope your prior commitment goes well.”

  “Hope your assholia clears up.”

  X

  On my way out of the theatre building, I have a hard time getting around a cluster of students standing in front of the notice board. My curiosity piqued, I skirt around the edge of the group until I can get close enough up front to see what everyone is texting themselves.

  It’s an audition notice for Townsend House directed by one of the grad students, to be performed in the Little Theatre. I follow suit and take the information down. We need to prepare a two-minute monologue and be ready to do cold readings from the play. Simple enough.

  “I saw a bunch of monologue books down in the Green Room,” I hear India say to Steve, who is her scene partner. “Want to go check some out and work together?”

  “Sure. You’re totally right for the lead.”

  India smiles. “That’s what I was thinking too.”

  I walk past them. “Dani, you gonna try out?”

  I nod. “Thinking about it.”

  “Which part?” Cassandra says, coming over with her scene partner Jackson.

  I’m not really familiar with the play, but I do know there’s the lead and then there’s her Eccentric Best Friend and girls like India and Cassandra expect girls like me to be dying to play the EBF to their lead. “Probably the lead,” I say and then turn around and walk out the door, hearing Jackson snort a laugh. He is so not my gay.

  I decide to go get coffee anyway since my next class doesn’t start until four. I grab a plain black coffee because that’s how I like coffee – like my men, boring and bitter. Ha. I take a seat at a table by the window that faces 13th Street, the main drag out of campus, and start mulling over the monologue portion of the audition.

  I don’t really want to look through monologue books and all the old scripts I did in high school…nothing really works. We did a lot of musicals and comedies and Townsend House is definitely not either of those. It’s a period piece set in the Depression. If I remember correctly, the lead has some sort of crisis of conscience.

  Hmm. I don’t know. The poem I wrote about Chase’s beating comes to mind. How I stood there not coming to his rescue for fear of getting hit myself. The one time my loud mouth couldn’t save me or him. That’s a crisis of conscience, right? Feeling helpless? Knowing you’re not doing the right thing? I brush a tear from my left eye. Fuck. Haven’t thought about that in a while. Probably should think of that every day. But college is different. People are better here, right? I don’t actually know. There are still cliques, but they mix it up a little more often, I guess.

  I wonder if it will work for or against me that the poem is contemporary? I feel like I want to ask Liam’s opinion on this for some reason. Maybe because he’s a very solid guy. He’s a long-term relationship solid kind of guy.

  I take a drink of my coffee and stare out the window.

  Liam’s across the street standing in front of the University Bookstore – the Duck Store. He’s got his hands jammed deep in his pockets and he’s looking down the street. His expression goes from passive to smiling. I follow the direction of his gaze with mine and see a woman coming toward him, waving. She’s carrying a reusable shopping bag from Trader Joe’s. It’s filled to the brim with stuff.

  Liam holds his arms out like he’s going in for a hug, but she takes that opportunity to put the bag handle in his right hand. Then she leans in and gives him a quick peck on the cheek before backing a step away. Liam’s shoulders slump and the smile fades from his face.

  She gestures to the bag and he bends down and looks through it, sort of, and then nods. They stand there talking for a moment, lots of nodding and shrugging and awkwardness happening.

  The woman is beautiful. Tall with a black pixie cut. She has the thin face and long neck that can pull off that hairdo. It makes her look completely feminine even though her hair is shorter than Liam’s. She’s wearing dark denim skinny jeans and a gray chunky long sweater that skims nicely over her hips.

  The woman has to be Ariana. This is the kind of woman that goes with Liam. She’s on his level.

  They finish up talking and there’s another weird, reluctant hug. I guess that’s how it is between people who have spent a lot of time together and then suddenly don’t anymore. He probably doesn’t hate her even though he’d like to. He probably still loves her, as much as he’d like to not have to see her and collect a Trader Joe’s bag of crap from her.

  Projection? I have a tendency.

  I envy her a little. The way she looks. The time she got to spend with him. But I pity her too, for having such a cowardly heart that she had to cheat on her first love to move on.

  I notice I’ve got a death grip on my coffee and relax my hands. What do I think I’m gonna do, throw it at her? Dumb. She’s probably really nice, despite being a football player fucker.

  Ariana walks past Liam toward campus and Liam heads over to the bus stop. He gets on the #23, which goes way the hell over to the other side of town out by Freddy’s.

  I wait until the bus drives away before getting up and heading to my next class. I don’t want him to know that I saw him vulnerable. I owe him that much.

  Chapter Four

  Stepping off the #67 bus at Valley River Center, I hurry through the pouring rain toward the mall. Auditions are coming up, and while I’ve decided to turn my poem about Chase into a monologue for sure, I still want to dress vintage. I’ve got the perfect shoes, skirt, and sweater already, but I’m lacking something that will make me feel like a leading lady.

  Nothing says confidence like wearing silk stockings with a seam up the back and garters.

  At least that’s what Elizabeth says. I wouldn’t know. Despite my awesome fashion sense, I’m a buy your underthings at Target kind of girl. But, I really want the part and every little bit of mental advantage I give myself will help.

  The transit center at VRC is clear on the opposite side from Victoria’s Secret, so I window shop in the other stores on my way there, working up the courage to act like the sort of woman who thinks nothing of strapping a lacy belt around her pelvis and going about her day.

  The mall is crowded, like it is every time I’ve come here. Just like it was in DeKalb. Crappy weather breeds mallrats. A group of girls, probably juniors in high school, walk by me slurping Orange Juliuses up through their sticky, over lip-glossed mouths.

  Which reminds me…I change my course and go in the direction of Sephora instead. Now there’s a place I feel at home. I love make-up. The packaging, the rainbow of colors, the sparkle a
nd glitter, and the potential of it all.

  When I walk through the entrance I’m greeted by a bored looking mega-blond in all black.

  “Have you heard about our sale?” she asks.

  She thrusts a glossy flyer at me and I take it. It literally says SALE on it in magenta capital letters and little else besides some teeny tiny fine print in black.

  “Uh, thanks,” I say, gesturing to the giganto sign above her head that must be the great-granddaddy of the flyer. “I gathered.”

  The “greeter” stares at me for a moment and then blinks hard, her goopy mascaraed eyelashes sticking together. “Buy one item at regular price and get another at twenty percent off, excluding clearance and a bunch of other shi--, items. Plus, ask at the counter about our exciting free gift.”

  “Blush that looks crappy on everyone and an eyelash curler, am I right?”

  That garners a slight smile.

  “I’m just here for some lipst—”

  “Dani?”

  I look past the greeter and into Liam’s pretty mug. “Hey! Fancy meeting you here.”

  He nods, gesturing for me to come over to him. I step around the greeter who has once again checked out until the next customer comes in.

  “I need your help,” Liam whispers. “Everyone in here is maybe brain dead.”

  “It’s all the perfume,” I whisper back, giving him a knowing look. “It dulls the senses.”

  “I can see and, uh, smell that.” He rubs his hands together. “Might you know of a concealer or cover-up or what have you that can—”

  “What have you?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “Only dads and down home politicians say what have you.”

  Liam shrugs. “And Garretts. Anyway. I want to cover my Ariana tat, and apparently most of the make-up that’s designed to conceal is also designed to be sheer. This makes absolutely no sense.”

  “You have much to learn,” I say, tsking my tongue. “It’s because most people want to appear as though they’re not wearing make-up.”

  He juts his chin out at me. “Like I said, makes no sense.”

  I take him by the arm and pull him over to a display of the draggier brands. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked any of the queens at RUMORS. This is probably the stuff they use.” I choose a pot of thick stage foundation in the shade closest to Liam’s skin tone. I’m only a little proud that I can match the color from memory and not from looking at him right now. “This, for instance, will hide stubble fairly well, so it should hide ink.”

  “Stubble too, huh?” He takes the foundation from me and rolls it between his fingers, checking out the contents through the clear plastic lid.

  “Yeah, I mean it’s not for all day wear or anything, but it will last a good eight hours.”

  He turns it over and looks at the price sticker on the bottom. His mouth drops open. “Damn.”

  I chuckle. “I’m getting something too. Why don’t I buy it and get you the twenty percent off and then you can give me the cash.”

  “Thanks,” Liam says running his free hand through his hair. “That’s cool of you.”

  I shrug. “I’ll even throw in the free gift.”

  I grab the lipstick I came in for and we get in line. Liam takes hold of the tube in my hand and turns it so he can see the label. “Nice color.”

  “Yup, it’s a classic.” I rock back on my heels, made nervous for some reason by the proximity of his fingers to mine. “So,” I say, hoping a shift in subject will chill me out, “what do you want to cover up your tat for? You got a lotta awesome new muscle shirts?”

  “Nah.” He shakes his head. “I can’t afford to get it lasered off and I’m sick of the constant reminder.” His eyes go sad and I’m sorry I pried. It’s just how I do.

  We move forward in line.

  “Well, I think the stuff we picked out will work.” I grin. “I thought maybe you were going to show up tomorrow to Skeevy Steve’s costume party dressed as Tarzan or something.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me. “Tarzan, huh?”

  “Or a shirtless cowboy would probably work too. You know, with your, uh, complexion,” I joke. “These are just a couple of suggestions. I have more if you’re interested.”

  Liam snorts. “That’s okay. I wasn’t planning on going to Steve’s party, but you’re the second person who’s mentioned it to me. Is it supposed to be cool?”

  I slap him on the chest and fake laugh. “Yeah, no. But there is supposed to be a keg. ’Nuff said.”

  It’s our turn to pay. I step up to the counter and put my lipstick down first, making eye contact with the cashier. “Full price.” I put the pot of foundation down. “Twenty percent off.” I jerk my thumb back at Liam. “Free gift.”

  The girl eyes Liam like she wishes he was a free gift, and I don’t blame her, but then she gets all scowly at me. Yes. Excuse me for befriending the hottie. I know. He’s not on my level. Whatever.

  She rings me up and drops our stuff into a single bag, throwing in, you guessed it, a cheap-ass eyelash curler and a nearly neon orange blush.

  We meander out of the store. “So, who else from class mentioned the party?” I ask, just for something to say.

  “Oh, India wants me to go with her.”

  Of course she does. They make perfect sense. India would never have gotten the stink eye from the Sephora bitch.

  “Cool. Maybe I’ll see you two there.” Slipping my lipstick from the bag, I put it in my purse, the unexpected highlight of my Friday evening coming to an end.

  Liam takes his purchases and hands me some folded bills. “Where to now?” he asks.

  What? He must be hard up for entertainment if he wants to hang out with me at the mall. “Um, I’m going to Victoria’s Secret.” My face heats.

  He grins, the bastard, clearly enjoying my embarrassment. “I like Victoria’s Secret. I’ll just sit over by the dressing rooms while you shop.” His grin becomes a full-on sexy smile.

  I shake my head. “No way. You’ll see what size I am—”

  His eyes travel down to my boobs and then back up to my eyes. “I can see what size you are now.”

  “I’m not getting a bra, you pervert.”

  Liam tilts his head to the side. He takes a gander at my ass.

  My head bursts into flames.

  “Seriously,” I say and then sigh. “Please don’t come with me. My ego can’t take it. I already have to deal with the huge posters of nearly naked supermodels staring me down and making me feel inadequate. And all the sorority girls. And the guys that do sit back by the dressing rooms and…I can just imagine them thinking, ‘what business does the dumpy chick have in hotlandia?’ In fact, you know what? I don’t even want to go anymore. How about Orange Julius? Are you parched? I’m parched.”

  I come up for air and reluctantly meet Liam’s gaze. His forehead is scrunched up, and I’m sure he’s wondering why he even bothered trying to make conversation with me. But then he nods and his forehead relaxes.

  “Yeah, okay. I could go for a frothy refreshing beverage or what have you.”

  I grin.

  We wend our way through the mall traffic, rebels on the wrong side of the walkways, going against the tide. Unfortunately, to get to Orange Julius, we have to pass by Victoria’s Secret.

  Liam stops in front of the store. “Why don’t you go in and get your…whatever, and I’ll go get our drinks and meet you at those couches over there.” He points to a seating area about twenty feet away.

  “All right,” I drawl, looking at him sheepishly. “I’d like an original Julius. A small.” I dig a few of the dollars he gave me out of my backpack and hold them out to him.

  He waves my hand away. “Keep it. I owe you. I obviously made you feel weird and I didn’t mean to.”

  I back into the store. “Uh, thanks. I’ll meet you in a second.” I watch him walk away and when he can’t possibly see me, stride as confidently as I can over to the hosiery and accessories. Without even holding the various garters up to my body to gue
sstimate what will fit me, I grab a plain black satin set in XL and a package of Queen sheer black thigh-highs.

  With my same faux confidence, I march over to the cash wrap and slam the garters down on the counter.

  “We’ve got a sale going, buy six pairs of panties, get the seventh—”

  “Just the…those things there.” If I can’t even say garters out loud, what chance do I have as a lead in a show? I’m too much of a sniveling wuss.

  I take in a deep breath, the humiliation of the self-esteem meltdown I had in front of Liam catching up with me.

  India probably owns every garter in the store. Probably crotchless panties and pasties and all manner of other hot lingerie that girls like her wear without a second thought. They wear it because it is sexy and they are sexy and that’s just the way of the world.

  I pay and snatch the sack from the cashier, folding the top of the small rectangular bag down and cramming it in my backpack.

  Liam is just getting to the seating area when I do. I notice he’s ordered the same thing as me.

  “Here ya go.” He hands me the drink and we sit down on opposing love seats.

  “So, what’s your costume for the party?” he asks, leaning forward. “I know what you think I should be wearing, but what about you?”

  I cross my legs, flexing the toes on my dangling foot. “Clown.”

  Liam grimaces, a look of sheer terror passing over his face. “Fuck you, no.”

  “What?” I laugh. “Are you one of those weirdoes that are afraid of clowns?”

  He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand. “Hell yes I am!” He takes a sip of his drink, eying me. “Are you at least going to be a sexy clown?”

  There is additional tsking. “No, dude. I’m going to be a straight up regular old clown with a red nose and big shoes and white face and an enormous butcher’s knife which I’ll use to cut your heart out.”

  Liam snorts and then winces. Julius up the nose stings like a bitch. I been there.

  “You are so fucked up, but highly entertaining.”

  I quell the urge to say ta-da and rock some jazz hands.