Stage Fright (Bit Parts)

by Scott, Michelle

  Hedda’s gaze sharpened. “Monster? You thought the vampire was monstrous?”

  Charles cleared his throat. “I think what Andrew is trying to say…”

  Hedda cut her eyes at him. “I wasn’t asking you.”

  Charles, chagrinned, fell back a step. Andrew and I exchanged smirks in the mirror. As much as I liked and admired Charles, he’d put the cast and crew through hell during rehearsals. A few nights ago, he’d bellowed that Andrew was turning Dracula into, “a goddamned, prancing fairy queen.” It was nice to see him humbled for once.

  “Well, usually Dracula is considered a monster,” Andrew said, speaking carefully. “But in the play, he explains that, although he’s changed physically, he hasn’t lost his soul. He still admires music and art. He loves Lucy Seward. In fact, he appreciates humans even more now that he no longer is one.”

  At this, I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from rolling my eyes. No amount of smooth talking could hide the fact that County Dracula was dreck. Hedda’s face relaxed, however, and she nodded her approval. “Nicely said. You’ve summed up the heart of the play perfectly.”

  She became brisk. “Now then, Andrew, let me explain why I’m here. I’m staging a brand-new show in six weeks, and…”

  Charles gave a start. “What do you mean a new show? And in six weeks? Julius Caesar is due to open at the end of January!”

  Hedda didn’t spare him a glance. “I’m cancelling Julius Caesar.”

  Charles ran his fingers through his silver hair. “But this season was planned over a year ago. We’ve already sold tickets, and I’ve begun casting! We can’t…”

  She held up her hand, cutting him off. “Now is not the time, Charles.” She turned her attention back to Andrew. “As I was saying, I would like to invite you to audition for the show.”

  My pulse quickened. Before working at the Bleak Street, I’d never heard of Hedda Widderstrom, but from the hints Charles had dropped over the past few months, it was clear that Miss Widderstrom had a great deal of influence in the theater community. She didn’t just know the movers and shakers, she had set them in motion to begin with. Catching Hedda’s eye was like getting the ‘Advance to GO’ card in Monopoly. You might not win the game because of it, but it would certainly put you ahead of everyone else.

  “This is a very unique engagement,” Hedda said. Her violet eyes glittered. “It’s an avant-garde piece.”

  Avant-garde. Uh oh. That’s exactly what Charles had said about County Dracula back when he’d offered me a job. “How experimental?” I asked.

  Her smile widened, giving a glimpse of overly white teeth. “It’s called 16 Voices Talking at the Same Time.”

  I suppressed a groan. “Does it really involve sixteen actors all speaking at the same time?” When Hedda nodded, I grimaced without meaning to. I hadn’t thought anything could be worse than County Dracula. No wonder most people thought modern theater was dead.

  Her sharp eyes pierced me. “My dear, Shakespeare was once considered too experimental because he mixed comedy with tragedy.”

  Comparing Much Ado about Nothing to something called 16 Voices Talking at the Same Time was absurd, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “Who wrote it?” Andrew asked.

  Hedda brightened even more. “Victor Stuyvesant. He’s a close, personal friend of mine, and he’ll be working alongside the director and actors.”

  Not again! The County Dracula playwright had also been a close friend. Surely something in the AEA bylaws prohibited the torture of actors. Andrew and I exchanged worried looks in the mirror.

  Charles’s jaw dropped, and his eyebrows jumped. “Victor Stuyvesant? Of the New York Stuyvesants?” At Hedda’s nod, Charles said, “Any idea why he’s making a surprise visit to Detroit?”

  “He’s here to stage a play, of course.” Hedda continued to smile, but several nervous tugs on the diamond bracelet belied her calm. “And, of course, to attend my little party tomorrow night.”

  Charles’s lips puckered, as if he’d suddenly bit down on something sour. “You’re still going through with that?”

  “I see no need to cancel. Luquin deserves recognition for all he’s done for me.”

  Charles’s hands clenched into fists. From our weeks together, I knew his temper was rising like the mercury in a thermometer. “After all he’s done for you? What about me?”

  Hedda’s eyes blazed. “It isn’t your place to question my decision.” The vehemence behind her words cracked like a whip.

  Charles jerked as if he’d been hit, and he lowered his eyes. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  Hedda nodded stiffly. “Well, Andrew?” she asked, her voice gentle once more. “Are you interested?”

  “Who’s directing?” Andrew asked.

  Hedda waited several seconds longer than necessary before finally saying, “Charles. Of course.”

  A little color returned to Charles’s face, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. He bowed slightly. “I’d be honored.”

  “In that case, maybe,” Andrew said. “What about you, Cassie? Are you going to audition?”

  Shocked, I stumbled over my reply. “Well, I don’t know…it’s a great opportunity, but I’m awfully busy.” It wasn’t just my fear of auditioning that made my palms sweat. It was Hedda herself. Something about that woman put me on edge.

  Hedda studied me, gauging my reaction, before dismissing me with a shrug. “The auditions are by invitation only.”

  Relief blew through my chest. “Oh, sure, I understand. No problem.”

  Hedda turned back to Andrew. “Well?” When he hesitated, Hedda said, “Why don’t you read the play before you decide.” She took a script from her purse and laid it on Andrew’s table. “Auditions begin next week.”

  Annoyed that Andrew was getting all of the attention, Tabitha sauntered up. She gave Hedda her best ingénue smile. She didn’t carry it off nearly as well as Andrew had. “Hello. I’m Tabitha Purcell.”

  Hedda smiled slightly. “Ah, the beautiful leading lady.”

  Beautiful. My jealous brain clung to that word. Tabby wasn’t a gifted actress, but her looks sold tickets. She was tall where I was short. Her complexion was fair whereas mine was the color of tea. She also had blond hair, a pert nose, and a perfect figure while I had none of those things.

  Tabitha offered her hand, but Hedda left it hanging. Turning to Charles, she said, “Now, where is the other actor I wanted to meet?”

  “This way.” Charles ushered his guest away from us.

  Tabby stood stunned, like she’d been running full tilt and suddenly smacked into a glass wall. I sucked in my cheeks to hide my smile.

  Charles and Hedda passed by the remaining principal cast. When they reached the end of the hallway, only one actor remained. Tabby’s fists clenched in outrage. “Oh. My. God.”

  Darryl had changed from his costume and back into his gangsta wannabe attire: baggy jeans carefully sagged to reveal a stripe of red boxers, and an oversized t-shirt. He was lacing up a pair of fluorescent yellow high tops.

  Darryl! Of all people! The guy’s performances were as wooden and creaky as the Bleak Street’s stage. “Oh, the injustice,” I muttered.

  When Charles handed over a script to 16 Voices, Darryl thrust out his chest. Making sure everyone was watching, he said in his loudest onstage voice, “I would consider it an honor to audition for a part, Miss Widderstrom.” I rolled my eyes before deciding it wasn’t worth my energy to be jealous. Other than Andrew, Hedda Widderstrom’s taste in actors appeared to be as terrible as her taste in plays.

  While I locked up the theater and turned off the lights, Andrew finished packing up his things. When I came backstage again, he rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Ready to get that drink?”

  The back hallway was still a mess, but cleanup could wait until Monday. “Let’s do it,” I said. I grabbed my purse and followed Andrew through the back door.

  Charles and Hedda stood in the tiny, employee-onl
y parking lot behind the back of the theater. Charles had smoked halfway through one of his unfiltered Camels, and was already shaking another from the pack. “Because honoring Luquin isn’t fair! You’ve kept me waiting for years!”

  Hedda spoke with quiet intensity. “And you will continue to wait as long as I say…”

  Seeing Andrew and me, Charles cleared his throat. Hedda immediately cut herself off.

  “Good night, Charles,” Andrew said. He turned to Hedda. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “I hope you’ll consider taking a role in 16 Voices,” she said. “You’d be a great inspiration to the playwright.”

  “Maybe. But you should really let Cassie audition, too,” Andrew said. “She’s terrific! You should have seen her in King Lear at the Pinnacle last winter.”

  I gave him a grateful smile. King Lear had been a lucky break. I’d been the understudy for the role of Cordelia and had gotten the part when the actress initially cast had slipped on the ice and broken her ankle. The run had been very short, only two weeks, but my performance had earned me several great reviews.

  Hedda frowned. “I saw that show, but I don’t remember you.”

  “Cassie played Cordelia,” Charles said. “You and Marcella both told me how much you enjoyed her performance.”

  Hedda continued to shake her head. “No, this is not the same young woman.”

  “It is,” Andrew insisted.

  Hedda leaned in close, peering at me like I was a specimen in a jar. I backed away, bumping into Andrew. “Ah, yes,” she said. “I suppose there is a little resemblance, but she’s changed since then.” She treated me to another of her cunning smiles. “You’ve lost your shine, haven’t you my dear?”

  I flushed. I thought I’d been doing a pretty good job of hiding my mental issues, but Hedda’s expression told me that I didn’t fool her at all.

  “Such a pity that her talent has wasted away,” she told Charles.

  I gaped at her. Wasted away? What did she mean wasted away? Seeing my crestfallen expression, Andrew put his arm around my shoulders and guided me out of the parking lot.

  Chapter Two

  Andrew was in such high spirits that he carried me piggyback most of the way to the bar. For his sake, I acted happy, but inside I was a mess. Forget hanging out at the Lamplighter. I wanted to go home, bury under the covers, and pretend the night hadn’t happened.

  I hung on tighter when Andrew jogged past the Cipher Theater. Well, what used to be the Cipher Theater. The owners had pulled stakes and moved on months ago. In fact, Streetcar had never made it to the stage. Although the building sat in the middle of a Renaissance zone – a gentrified section of the city in which investors were dumping money – the place remained vacant. Faded fliers promising the opening of Streetcar were still tacked to its doors.

  Andrew and I finally reached the bar and claimed the last empty table. The Lamplighter was a narrow, windowless dive with walls yellowed from decades of cigarette smoke. Its single nod to frivolity was a low-tech karaoke machine that slumped in one corner like a hard-drinking customer determined to stay until last call.

  Most of the cast and crew were already celebrating. Andrew ordered a beer, and I went for a cosmopolitan which was sweet enough to make me like it, but not tasty enough to make me want more than two.

  In addition to everything else, the letdown of the final night’s performance weighed on me. All around were conversations about auditions and call backs and other prospects. Sarah, who had played the maid, was going on the road with a youth theater group, and David, aka Van Helsing, had a small part at the Gem. In fact, almost everyone had found work. Everyone, that is, but me.

  “Why so glum?” Andrew asked in his best Dracula voice.

  I shrugged.

  He dropped the Dracula routine. “You’re not letting what Hedda Widderstrom said bother you?”

  I shrugged again.

  He squeezed my hand. “C’mon, Cassie. She’s a mental woman who thought County Dracula was world-class drama. Don’t let her inside your head.”

  “I know, but…”

  “No buts! You’re an amazing actress.” He nudged me. “What would you say to firing up the karaoke machine?”

  There was a time when I would have elbowed my way to the front of the line. Now, I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “I’d say there aren’t enough cosmopolitans in the world.”

  “I accept that challenge.” He signaled the waitress. “Can we have another round for the lady?”

  I finished my second cosmo before switching to amaretto sours which was not a good idea since I guzzled one before I realized it. Fuzzily, I remembered that I had to drive home, but decided that was a problem for future Cassie. Present Cassie was determined to get drunk off her ass.

  It took another amaretto sour before Andrew could talk me into a duet of The Time of my Life. Then one more before I could be persuaded into singing Call Me Maybe. By the time Andrew and I paired up for Summer Nights, I had to hang onto him to remain upright. Whenever I drank, my equilibrium was the first thing to go. I had wanted to drink in order to forget my sadness and jealousy, but it hadn’t worked. Now I was sad, jealous, and unable to walk a straight line.

  As we reclaimed our seats, I noticed a giant of a man sitting alone at a corner table. Even though the bar was dimly lit, the man’s stunning looks were evident. His skin was as dark as the night outside, and his head was crowned with dreadlocks. Wide shoulders filled out his jacket, and his broad chest tapered to a narrow waist. A hint of a beard hugged his perfect jaw and set off his luscious lips. A silver earring winked high up in one ear.

  The man wasn’t exactly staring at Andrew, but he was definitely interested in my friend. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer,” I said sourly. It figured that Andrew would get the standing O, a personal invitation to audition for Hedda Widderstrom’s new play, and the handsome guy. If Andrew and I weren’t such good friends, I might have hated him.

  Andrew glanced over and shook his head. “He’s not my type.”

  “Are you kidding me? He’s gorgeous!” I snuck another peek at the hottie. The man leaned back in his seat, his wrists resting on the table, but tension thrummed beneath his relaxed surface. He looked both patient and ready to spring, like a cat guarding a mouse hole.

  Andrew took another pull from his beer. “He’s definitely gorgeous. He’s just not gay.”

  “He’s been checking you out for the past ten minutes,” I argued.

  Andrew shrugged. “I’m telling you, the man’s as straight as Darryl’s acting.”

  I was about to fire off Andrew’s least favorite word – gaydar – when his phone rang. He read the display and immediately answered. “Hey, love. What’s up?” His tone was light, but he frowned, worried. His right hand wadded up his napkin. “Yes, I’m still at the bar.” He laughed nervously. “One beer. Just like I promised.” His hand smoothed out the napkin before wadding it up again. “Yes, I know I said I’d be home before midnight, but it’s the cast party.”

  I turned away from the conversation. Rolling my eyes and glaring at the phone wouldn’t do anything but start another quarrel. Andrew already knew how I felt about his boyfriend. In my opinion, his bad boyfriend. Caleb was a small man with an impressive set of biceps, a permanent sneer, and an aggressively direct stare. He was at least a dozen years older than Andrew, and I always got this creepy teacher/student vibe whenever I was around the two of them.

  My eyes returned to Mr. Mysterious in the corner. He wore a tailored coat and a gray striped scarf loosely knotted around his neck. He ignored the drink in front of him and watched Tabitha butcher Dancing Queen. Maybe he wasn’t gay, but he sure wasn’t interested in me.

  Suddenly, Andrew left the table, his phone still pressed against his ear. His forehead furrowed as he talked. No doubt Caleb would spend the next twenty minutes giving him crap for staying out too late.

  The front door opened, and Charles came into the bar on a blast of frigid air. As he to
ok Andrew’s vacant seat across from me, he lifted his hand in greetings to several actors who called out his name. The fug of cigarette smoke surrounding him made me cough. “Double scotch!” he bellowed to the nearest waitress.

  I wondered how many drinks Charles had already knocked back. He’d never been visibly drunk during rehearsals or performances, but as the pressures of tech week had mounted, he’d started each night with a snort or two from the flask he kept in his desk.

  He patted down his pockets until he found his cigarettes. “You can’t do that in here,” I reminded him. After two years, Charles still forgot about the state-wide ban on smoking in public places.

  Swearing, he put the pack away unopened. He looked around the bar, his eyes coming to rest on the hottie in the corner booth. “God. They’ll serve anyone in here, won’t they?”

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked, my hackles rising. As a kid, I’d suffered a few racial slurs, but after September 11, the occasional insults became much uglier. “He has as much right to be in here as we do,” I said stiffly.

  “Relax, Cassie. You know me better than that. I mean that man stirs up trouble wherever he goes.”

  “That’s funny. Because right now, he looks like he’s enjoying a drink in a bar.”

  “He never enjoys anything,” Charles muttered scanning the room once more. “Where’s Andrew? I thought you two came together.”

  I frowned, picturing my best friend arguing with his boyfriend. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

  “He better be. I need to talk to him.”

  “About the new play? It sounds rather, uh, interesting.”

  Charles snorted. “Sixteen Actors Talking at the Same Time? It’s crap. Utter crap.”

  “So why is Hedda backing it?”

  “She doesn’t have a choice. When Victor Stuyvesant tells her to jump, she jumps.”