The Final Act

by Dee, Bonnie

  As the tragedy of the play’s second act escalated, Elena kept her eye on Michael, but noticed no faltering or reaction to the news he’d received. If anything he seemed more in character than ever. In the big argument between Aaron and Richard, Michael laid into Denny with an almost frightening intensity.

  By the time they reached the climactic scene in which Kathleen returned to Aaron, Elena was certain Michael would be fine. She entered on cue and crossed to him. “Hello, Aaron.”

  Michael looked up, gazing at her with the expression of awestruck joy she’d become accustomed to, but which never failed to make her stomach flip. “Elena!”

  For a moment, she didn’t catch the slip. “I’m sorry I left the way I did.” As she spoke her line, she realized Michael had said her real name. Maybe the audience hadn’t noticed.

  He rushed toward her, pulling her into his arms and cutting off her next line with a kiss. When he finally released her to begin his monologue, Michael stood for a few moments longer than usual, simply gazing at her.

  Elena grew nervous. Should she feed him a line? Her hands rested on his waist and she pressed his sides prompting him to speak.

  He started to recite his monologue.

  She exhaled a breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding and concentrated on reacting to his speech. As he revealed the emotions Aaron kept buried inside, it was easy for her to express sympathy and concern. She was worried.

  Michael hesitated over a line, covering the pause by swallowing hard and looking overcome with emotion. When he spoke again, he’d skipped several lines. The missing lines threw him and he stumbled over his words, before falling silent. Usually at this point in the monologue, tears trickled down his face. Tonight, Michael was dry-eyed and simply looked lost.

  To see him adrift was heartbreaking and alarming. He was always in control and accurate in his lines unless he chose to change something. If he couldn’t make it through this speech, she dreaded to see how he did on their song.

  Elena quickly took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. “Sh. It’s all right. You don’t have to say anything more.” She rose on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I love you.”

  Elena heard a rustling sound, either a sigh of relief or satisfaction from the audience. She smiled at Michael, her mind racing ahead. Somehow she still had to give the musical director the verbal cue “It’s all I ever wanted” in order to begin their duet. But with Michael seemingly incapable of speech, there was no line to prompt hers.

  She touched the side of his face. “You’ve showed me your heart. It’s all I ever wanted.” The improvised line was corny, but not bad for an off-the-cuff effort. At least it started the music.

  After Elena’s first lines, Michael’s tenor took over the verse. His voice was strong and confident, no hesitation in his singing. She breathed a sigh of relief and gazed at him adoringly as she waited her turn to take up the melody.

  In the final refrain, their voices harmonized, wrapping the audience in an aura of romance and passion. When they finished the soaring conclusion, there was a moment of silence. The magic of music had suspended jaded cynicism for a few glorious moments, allowing the audience to experience with the characters the hopefulness of new love. The applause started quietly, then grew and rolled over them like thunder.

  Elena held her final pose while the light slowly faded. She held Michael’s hand as she exited the stage and when they parted, she gave his fingers a strong squeeze before letting go.

  After the final curtain, Michael hugged her. “You saved my ass tonight. Thanks.”

  Elena glowed inside. “Let me go with you to the airport and see you off. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  Being Michael, she thought he’d refuse, but after a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “I’ve got to tell Peters I’m going and pack a few things.”

  An hour later, the taxi pulled up in front of the municipal airport and idled by the curb. Michael took out his wallet and offered some cash to Elena. “Here’s some money for the ride back. You don’t have to come in with me.”

  She pushed his hand away. “Michael, I’m here because I want to be. Let me wait with you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” His voice was level. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “I know, but I’ll wait with you anyway.” Elena got out of the taxi, leaving him no choice but to do the same.

  He paid the driver, shouldered his bag and followed her inside the terminal.

  While he checked in his bag, Elena watched a young mother with a pair of twins sleeping in a stroller. She kissed and hugged an older woman and promised to see her in another few months. A man in a business suit swept a woman into his arms. Oblivious to anyone around them, they kissed and clung to one another. Wife? Girlfriend? Mistress? Elena wondered.

  Michael came up beside her, checking his watch. “There’s almost an hour before the flight. You really don’t have to wait here.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  His grim mouth relaxed into a smile. “I would love a drink.”

  They found a bar, sat and ordered: a gin and tonic for Elena and whiskey for Michael. He sipped half of it before setting the glass down, then stared blindly at the amber liquid.

  Elena savored the sharp tang of gin and waited to see if Michael would say anything. She’d respected his silence and his privacy on the way to the airport, but finally she prodded gently. “I know you and your dad didn’t get along very well, but this still must be very hard.”

  He made a noncommittal sound.

  Elena waited for him to offer more. Patience wasn’t her strong suit, but she knew getting Michael to open up would require tact coupled with persistence.

  “I’m not upset.” He stared into his glass. “I know I should be, especially since the last things we said to each other were…harsh, but I don’t really feel anything.”

  “That’s understandable. You’re in shock.”

  “I don’t think that’s it.” He took another sip of his drink. “The fact is I didn’t like the man. If we hadn’t been related, I wouldn’t have spent a minute in his company.”

  “But you were related.” Elena leaned across the table. “He was your father and that means something, whether you liked him or not.”

  She paused, knowing she was being too pushy, but unable to stop herself from giving her opinion. “I lost my father when I was five. He died in a car accident. I barely remember him, but it doesn’t mean he didn’t matter or have an impact on my life.”

  Michael set down his empty glass. “My dad impacted my life, all right. I just can’t remember any time it was positive.”

  “What was wrong between you?”

  He held up a hand to catch the bartender’s attention for a refill. “It sounds melodramatic, but the truth is he was a cold man and I was a disappointment.”

  “It can’t be that simple. What else?” Elena pressed.

  Michael glared at her. “It was that simple. He doesn’t…didn’t like me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t approve of your career choice, but he had to love you.”

  “No. I don’t think so.” Michael paused, drew a breath and went on. “He had the perfect son in his head, so he didn’t need me. I had an older brother who died as an infant. In my father’s mind he grew up to be his perfect reflection, the image of a son I could never live up to. A real kid is too messy and difficult.”

  He drank deeply of his second whiskey. “Fuck, I feel stupid telling you this. I’m not trying to be pathetic. I simply didn’t like the man and he didn’t like me. End of story.”

  Elena warned herself to stop, but her mouth kept running. “I’m just saying that maybe you cared about him…maybe you care more than you think you do. More than you want to. And that’s okay. You should allow yourself to care…and to grieve.”

  “I’m so glad you offered to wait with me. I didn’t know I’d be getting free therapy along with my drink.”

  “Two drinks,” Elena pointed out.

>   His lips twitched then curved in a smile.

  She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Sorry. I’m just sayin’.”

  “You always are.” His eyes were warm as he regarded her. “That’s what I like about you. I always know exactly what you think.”

  No. You really don’t. I think you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever met and much more vulnerable than I thought, and I wish I could get to know that side of you better.

  “Want one last drink?” she asked aloud.

  Michael checked his watch. “Sure.”

  An hour and another gin and tonic later, Elena swayed a little as she rose from the table. She was such a lightweight, her high metabolism made even a little alcohol pack a punch.

  Michael’s hand went to her waist to steady her. “Okay?”

  “Yeah.” She felt his touch burning through her shirt to her skin.

  He kept his hand at the small of her back all the way to the security check-in. “Thanks again for hanging with me.”

  “No problem.”

  “Are you going to be all right getting a taxi back to the hotel?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not drunk.”

  He laughed and leaned down to hug her, holding her in a tight grip for a long moment.

  Elena clutched the back of his shirt and held on. Her eyes drifted half-closed. She could happily spend the rest of the night in his embrace.

  He released her and stepped back. Their eyes met and held. His lips parted and he leaned toward her. She wasn’t sure if he was going to kiss her or say something, but her mouth opened slightly in anticipation.

  In the end, he bent his head and kissed her cheek quickly, lips barely brushing, yet branding her flesh.

  “Okay. See you in about a week.”

  “Take care.” Elena felt a pang of abandonment as he walked through the gate and disappeared.

  Scene Five: DUI

  Gretchen loved the way Jake’s pills made her feel cool and detached, floating calmly through a performance with no nervous tension. She loved the way Jake made her feel, warm, special and adored—possibly in love. The problem was she wasn’t sure how Jake felt about her. She’d given him time…plenty of time…eons of time to finally admit they were a couple, but they still floated in an undefined limbo of a relationship.

  She watched him sleep, streetlight shining through the slats of the blinds, creating bars of light and shadow on his face. She rested her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. A sweet, strong surge of tenderness coursed through her. She traced the jagged scar that forked across his inner arm like lightning. Earlier that evening, she’d learned the story behind the scar, which illustrated the vast differences in their childhoods.

  Lying together after sex, Jake had rubbed his finger over a thin, pale scar marking Gretchen’s chin. “What happened here?”

  She laughed. “My sister, Rebecca. She was eight and I was six. I cut her Barbie’s hair—absolutely massacred it with my little safety scissors—then hid the doll in the bottom of the toy box so Rebecca wouldn’t find out. But, of course, eventually she did and we got into a huge fight. She grabbed my arm. I pulled away and fell. Cut my chin on the edge of the toy box on the way down. There was blood everywhere, and I had to go to the emergency room for stitches.

  “You can guess who got in trouble. Being the baby of the family has its advantages. Although, now that I think of it, Mom did make me buy Rebecca a new Barbie from my allowance.”

  Jake had smiled, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. He stretched, drawing an arm up over his head until his spine cracked. Gretchen captured his arm in her hand and touched the long, ridged scar on the inside of his biceps.

  “What about this?” she asked.

  “My cousins and I had this fort we built in a vacant lot with old junk we found there. We were playing army and I jumped off the top of the fort and landed on this sharp piece of corrugated metal.” He rubbed the scar. “Hurt like hell and I thought I was going to bleed to death.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Ten.”

  “Wow.” She traced the length of the scar again. “It must have taken a lot of stitches.”

  “I didn’t go to the doctor. In my house you learned to just suck things up. It got pretty infected, but eventually it healed.”

  Gretchen examined the ridge of flesh, and tried to imagine an adult who would ignore such a serious injury to a child.

  Jake put his arm to his side, hiding the scar from her, clearly embarrassed by the concern in her eyes. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

  Gretchen had smiled and changed the subject.

  That was how she was beginning to know him, in little hints and brief stories. It was like putting a puzzle together blind. She could only feel by their shapes how the pieces of Jake fit into the big picture. She wondered if he’d ever share all of himself with her.

  Now she turned to look at glowing numbers on the bedside clock. It was after three and she was still wide-awake. She got up, took a pair of sleeping tablets, then lay down and waited for the pleasant loosening of the knots and tangles in her brain. At long last, she relaxed and slipped into a deep sleep.

  She woke to sun streaming through the blinds and a dry, cottony mouth. She squinted at the back of Jake’s head, his brown hair sticking out in all directions. Smiling, she reached out to ruffle it, then it struck her that the sunlight was way too bright for morning. She checked the bedside clock. It was almost one thirty and there was a matinee performance at two.

  “Shit! Jake, wake up. We’re late.” Gretchen leaped out of bed and scrambled to retrieve her clothes strewn across the floor.

  Jake sat and stared blearily at the clock. It took him only a moment to process the time before he, too, jumped out of bed.

  They arrived at the theater with twenty minutes to spare. Furious, Austen met them backstage. “Where the hell have you been? Why was your phone off? I’ve been trying to call for an hour! Jean’s already in costume.”

  “I’m sorry. We overslept.”

  Austen glanced at his watch. “You have five minutes to get ready if you’re going on,” he told Gretchen. He spoke into his headset, letting Peters know they’d arrived.

  Jake left for the orchestra pit, and Gretchen hurried to the dressing room.

  “You’re here?” Jean frowned. “Where were you? I’m ready to go on.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Gretchen snatched her first costume off the rack.

  Tight-lipped, Jean went to change to her regular costume.

  “Very unprofessional, Gretchen,” Renée drawled from the make-up chair, where she was touching up her lipstick.

  Gretchen kicked off her shoes and pulled her T-shirt over her head. She was ready in plenty of time to take her place onstage, but her heart rate was up, her breath short and her tension growing. Any residual effects of the sleeping tablets had been completely blown away by the adrenaline rush. She needed her Xanax today of all days with her anxiety heightened by the nervous panic of the last minute rush.

  During the opening musical number, she lost her place and almost sang the wrong verse. She corrected the lapse immediately, but the mistake shook her. Her performance continued to be off.

  Bill improvised and covered her mistakes, but grabbed her arm after they exited the stage. “Slow down. You’re talking way too fast. What’s the matter with you?”

  Gretchen was desperate for something to help her get centered, but had to make do with deep breathing before she took the stage again. She thought things were back under her control until she realized she was giving a line from later in the act. Bill glared and again made up for her mistake.

  During intermission, Denny approached her. “What’s up? You seem frazzled today.”

  “I overslept and it’s put me out of whack.”

  He gave her a hug. “Take a few moments to yourself. Shake it off and start fresh in the second act. You’ll be fine.”

 
She clung to him a moment, moved by his warm, comforting voice. Denny was such a sweetheart, and it had been way too long since she’d talked with him.

  He pulled away and cupped her face in his hand. “Okay?”

  She nodded, sniffing back the unexpected tears. “Yeah. I’ll go outside and get some fresh air.”

  In the back alley, Gretchen searched for Jake, who usually hung out there with the band. He stood, lounging against the brick wall. The sun, slanting between the tall buildings, brought out golden highlights in his brown hair.

  She walked over to him and straight into his arms. “I suck,” she muttered into his chest. “I can’t focus or calm down. Do you have any Xanax?”

  “Not here.” Jake’s voice rumbled against her ear as he stroked her back. “Did you already take what I gave you?”

  “They’re back at the hotel.”

  “I don’t have anything on me. Sorry.”

  Gretchen felt a momentary flash of annoyance. He was supposed to have what she needed. “That’s okay.”

  “I got a joint,” Steve volunteered.

  They walked farther down the alley. Steve lit up, took a drag then passed it to Gretchen. She drew in a deep lungful. The harsh smoke no longer made her cough. She inhaled another puff before passing it to Jake.

  After several minutes and most of a joint, Gretchen still didn’t feel very relaxed. In fact, the idea of walking back onstage filled her with dread. She was convinced the audience would see she was a no-talent loser who had no business being on a stage with professionals.

  “Better?” Steve asked.

  She shrugged.

  Jake wrapped his arms around her again and kissed the top of her head. “You’ll be fine. You just need to relax and do your thing.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she snapped. The power of positive thinking wasn’t an option today. She couldn’t change how she felt, and his laid back attitude was irritating. “Sorry. I’m just a little tense. I’m sure you’re right. I’ll be fine. We’d better get back inside.” She managed a smile as she stood on her toes and kissed him, but felt wired as she walked back inside the building.