Stage Fright (Bit Parts)

by Scott, Michelle

  “I hope he does hate it,” I said. “I’d love to shove his nose in the fact that he was wrong.”

  “Don’t push him, Cassie,” Isaiah warned. “If he gets too angry, he may do something about it.”

  Good point. As a human, a furious Charles had been frightening. I couldn’t imagine what he’d be like as a furious vampire. Still, I wouldn’t let that rat intimidate me. “This is not just about being right, or even about honoring Victor. This is a tribute to the Widderstrom grieve and how things used to be.”

  “It’s the Corning grieve now,” Perry said.

  “But it shouldn’t be!” I shoved my ice cream away. “If only Hedda would listen to the truth, she’d know that!”

  The four of us lapsed into silence.

  “You should write a play about it,” Andrew finally said. “After all, it worked for Hamlet.” When Perry frowned, Andrew said, “Hamlet wrote a play to show the court that his uncle murdered his father so he could marry Hamlet’s mother.”

  I pounded my fist on the table. “That’s brilliant!”

  “Cassie, no,” Isaiah warned.

  “Yes!” I leaned over and kissed Andrew’s cheek. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m writing a one-act play. Just a conversation between Charles and Marcella about how they plotted to take over Hedda’s grieve. I’ll present it as an opening act for the 6 Voices dress rehearsal.” I’d invited Hedda, Charles, and the entire grieve to the dress rehearsal.

  Perry shook his head. “Bad idea. Very, very bad idea.”

  “I like it,” Andrew said.

  I grinned. “I knew you would. That’s why I’m asking you to play Charles.”

  Isaiah continued to shake his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

  Ignoring Isaiah, Andrew asked, “Who would play Marcella?”

  My smile widened. “Leading Lady, of course.”

  Chapter Thirty

  What if Hedda didn’t come? What if she came, but she didn’t understand the play? What if she understood, but still didn’t care enough to fight for her grieve? What if Charles realized what was going on and decided to rip out my throat? What if Hedda became so angry that she let Charles rip out my throat?

  Each night was spent in restless agitation, and each new day brought another worry. Not just from A Quiet Conversation, the play that Andrew and I had written for Hedda, but from 6 Voices as well.

  As the tension mounted, my temper grew shorter and shorter. I tried to keep my cool, but whenever the rotating stage became stuck mid-way through a rehearsal, or the actor playing V4 stumbled over a line, I raged and cursed viciously. A constant headache pulled my temples tight. No wonder Charles had been such a tyrant in the days leading up to tech week.

  Luckily, I had ways to reduce my stress. After living with Caleb all those years, Andrew had learned how to give awesome massages that sent my headaches packing. Isaiah, too, did his part, happily taking me to his dojo where I could work off steam on the mats and the punching bag. If I still had the energy, he’d take me into his arms for more intimate forms of body-to-body contact.

  “I still have that toothbrush in my purse,” I told him one afternoon.

  “Not until rehearsals are over.” He gave me a sweet, lingering kiss. “When you spend the night for the first time, I want your mind as well as your body with me.”

  The play couldn’t come soon enough.

  Andrew and I rehearsed daily. We also constantly rewrote the script. I estimated that we had less than a minute before either Charles or Hedda decided to attack us. If we wanted to make a point, we needed to do it almost immediately. Andrew, on the other hand, thought we’d have our full ten minutes. When we couldn’t reach an agreement, we took our rehearsals to Holy Comics to let Perry and Isaiah decide.

  A Quiet Conversation opened with Marcella examining her beauty in a mirror. As her fingers trailed to her neck, she spat out a curse against the woman who had changed her and stolen her precious voice. Andrew and I had been very careful to avoid the word vampire, but the innuendoes were obvious. After Marcella’s brief soliloquy, Charles appeared like a viper in the garden, and offered Marcella a way to get revenge. The remainder of the play involved the two of them plotting to overthrow Hedda’s grieve.

  When Andrew and I finished our performance, Perry and Isaiah didn’t move. Perry’s eyes were wide, and Isaiah tugged pensively at his lower lip. Andrew and I exchanged worried looks. “Well?” I ventured. “Did we suck that bad?”

  “My God, you gave me chills,” Perry said. “It was like sitting in on Marcella and Charles’s conversation while it was happening. I didn’t expect your play to be so real.”

  I smiled, pleased, but he shook his head. “That’s not a good thing. If you two perform that for Hedda, you’ll open a Pandora’s box.” He swallowed. “Don’t do it. Just…no. It’s suicide.”

  Isaiah’s forehead was furrowed in concentration.

  “Well?” I prompted.

  “Perry’s right. Your play is intense.” I cringed, waiting for him to object. To my surprise, however, he struck a pose with his hand on his hip. He tossed his dreads over his shoulder, pouted his lips, and lowered his eyelids. It might have been funny if he hadn’t seemed so intent. “That’s how Marcella always looked at herself in the mirror. When she was a kid, she practiced it for hours in the bathroom. We used to call it her paparazzi pose.”

  When I imitated him, he nodded. “Good. Now, draw your voice out a little when you speak and make your vowels flatter.”

  Speaking that way would be difficult since Marcella’s voice was already raspy, but I gave it a try. I spoke the first line of the play. “I call her my lover, but I hate her. I’d do anything to destroy her.”

  When I finished, Isaiah’s eyes shone with tears. He looked away. “That’s Marcella. Down to the last detail.”

  Perry continued to shake his head. “Don’t do this.”

  “Do it,” Isaiah said. “Hedda deserves to see the truth even if she doesn’t believe it. Perry and I will be there to make sure nothing happens to you.”

  Perry paled. “God help us all,” he muttered.

  The day of the dress rehearsal, my panic resurged with a vengeance. I tried to calm myself with my Bleak Street artifacts, but the terror won out. I rushed into the bathroom. Andrew followed and held my hair while I vomited.

  When I’d emptied my stomach, I wiped my mouth with a damp washcloth and studied my pale reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t just A Quiet Conversation that had me worried, it was appearing onstage at the Cipher. I’d gotten used to being in the building, and the stage no longer bothered me. But appearing alone in the spotlight, performing in a dark theater full of vampires? No way.

  “I can’t do this,” I told Andrew.

  “Yes, you can!”

  The day before, I’d gone to a salon and gotten a weave that so closely resembled Marcella’s tightly-curled locks that I shivered every time I looked at myself in the mirror. I gently tugged on one of my tresses now. “Everyone’s going to see me.”

  “That’s the point.”

  I put my hands to my throat. Tears stood in my eyes.

  “Isaiah is going to be there,” Andrew said, “and so are Perry and I. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Maybe I could keep my eyes closed,” I said, “or leave the house lights on.”

  Andrew put his hand under his chin and cocked his head. “How about a mask? Something to hide behind?”

  “Good idea.” My heart lifted a little. A mask wouldn’t keep me safe from vampires, but it would offer an illusion of safety.

  Andrew’s box of old Halloween costumes held nothing but Zorro, Batman, and the Phantom of the Opera masks. “Don’t you have anything less obvious?” I complained.

  “Sorry, but I’m not into girly costumes.”

  I rocked back on my heels. “An old Mardi Gras mask would work. Wait!” I shot into my bedroom and dug into the box of Bleak Street castoffs, unearthing the black, sequined mask. I h
eld it up to my eyes as Andrew walked into the room.

  “Perfect!” he said. “I’ll wear one, too. It will be like a charade.”

  I closed my eyes, letting the power of the mask bathe my face. For the first time all day, I felt calmer. Maybe I could do this.

  Maybe.

  I stood backstage in the darkened wings of the theater, my heart fluttering like a trapped bird. It was time to go onstage, but my feet wouldn’t budge. The velvet curtain I clung to had grown damp from my sweating palms. I tried to peek through the uneven eyeholes of the Bleak Street mask, but all I saw was darkness. Perry had reported that the house was packed with members of the grieve. Everything was perfectly quiet. Unlike human audiences, not a single cough or shuffle came from the crowd. The silence unnerved me.

  Isaiah and Perry swore they’d rush in at the first sight of trouble. Both of them were armed with everything from baseball bats to silver stakes and canisters of holy water. Still, I couldn’t let go of the curtain.

  “She’s literally paralyzed with fear,” Andrew whispered behind me. In a moment, Isaiah was at my side.

  He put one of his large, warm hands over my cold, clammy one. Leaning close, he talked so softly that his deep voice seemed to come from inside my own head. “I’ve seen you do this a hundred times. You’re amazing.” His mouth was directly against my ear, his breath warm against the side of my neck. “If I didn’t believe the story before, your play would make me believe it. You can back out if you want to, but I know you can do this.”

  He let go of my hand and withdrew into the darkness. He believed in me. I inhaled deeply. He was right. The show must go on.

  I hesitantly walked out onto the pitch-black stage. I held up my mirror and struck the pose I’d been practicing for weeks. After a heartbeat, the spotlight came on, and I spoke Marcella’s opening line in her raspy voice. “I call her my lover, but I hate her. I’d do anything to destroy her.”

  A gasp came from the audience. Had it been Hedda or someone else? I pushed the thought aside and continued. “She stole my soul, and she stole my voice. Now, I want to steal what she loves the most.”

  The curtains upstage twitched, bringing a flashback so intense my knees weakened. Everything was playing out as it had during my fateful audition. Instead of a vampire, however, Andrew appeared.

  We’d chosen our costumes carefully. I wore a simple, yet elegant white gown that clung to my curves. Andrew wore the Zorro mask and dressed in Charles’s typical khaki trousers, disheveled shirt, and worn, tweed jacket. Andrew said, “I’ve hated her for years. She never makes good on her promises. I tried taking her down once already, but it didn’t work.”

  Someone in the audience cursed loudly. I’d bet my life it was Charles. Andrew heard it too, and flinched. Without missing a beat, however, he continued. “There’s a way we can both get our revenge. And our rewards.”

  The dialogue wasn’t Tony-worthy, but the chemistry between Andrew and me was undeniable. In those few minutes, we transformed into Marcella and Charles.

  Whether they loved us or hated us, the silent audience was in our grip. Their attention was intoxicating. By the time our dialogue ended, I felt reckless. Wrapped up in the scene, I gave into impulse and grabbed the lapels of Andrew’s jacket. I yanked him towards me and delivered a brutal kiss. Luckily, Andrew followed my lead without hesitation. Even when I pretended to savage his neck, he played along. He grabbed my shoulders, threw his head back, and gave a loud cry of either agony or ecstasy.

  Of course, I had no way of knowing if Marcella and Charles had been that intimate, but it was such a perfect way to finish the scene I wondered why we hadn’t thought of it before.

  There was a harsh cry then a demand for lights. Terrified, I let go of Andrew.

  Hedda, her eyes blazing, held Charles by his neck. “Is it true?” Her voice rang out to every corner of the theater. She shook him. “Tell me!”

  Charles gargled something. He might have been a vampire, and Hedda might have been fasting, but he was no match for Hedda’s fury.

  “You’re going to die either way,” she said. “You may as well die with a clear conscious.” Red tears streaked her pale cheeks. “Did you plot with my beloved?”

  Charles finally gasped, “Yes.”

  I cried out as Hedda twisted Charles’s head off his shoulders as easily as a child would tear the head off a doll. Charles died with an expression of shock on his face.

  Hedda, dripping from the spray of Charles’s blood, dropped his body. She turned to the assembled vampires. “It will mean war with the Peabodys, but I am resuming control of my grieve. If you aren’t willing to follow me, you will not leave this theater alive.”

  I realized I was clinging to Andrew’s arm. At the first sign of trouble, Perry and Isaiah had charged onto the stage as promised, but neither Hedda nor the other vampires took the slightest interest in us.

  One by one, the vampires knelt. The woman nearest Hedda kissed her hand. Hedda lifted her chin, once more the powerful, arrogant vampire I’d first met at the Bleak Street. The one who reigned the Widderstrom grieve.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I’d never been so afraid in my life. Everything leading up to this moment – the Cipher situation, the vampires, Hedda’s play – was a walk in the park in comparison. My heart pounded in double time, and my espresso sat like crude oil in my stomach.

  Andrew wasn’t helping. He sat across from me in the coffee shop, sipping his latte and skimming the newspaper like he had all day.

  “Well?” I demanded.

  “Well what?” He was loving this.

  “You know damn well what!”

  He grinned. “He loved it.”

  My jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

  “Okay, maybe not loved it exactly. But for him, the review is awesome.”

  Tom Wiggins, the notorious critic, had sat through Six Voices the previous night. Though I’d been in a sweat to see his review, I’d made Andrew look at it first.

  I tore the newspaper from Andrew’s hand and read aloud, “Although Ms. Jaber’s directorial debut lacked consistency, she created a decent piece of theater that speaks to the audience.” I frowned. “What does he mean that I lacked consistency?”

  Andrew sighed. “For one second, stop focusing on the negative and accept the praise.”

  I grinned.

  Isaiah joined us. Over the past few weeks, he’d switched from chai to mocha lattes, something that both Perry and I found hilarious. We called it his ‘girlie coffee.’

  “You’re glowing,” he said.

  “Tom Wiggins liked the show!”

  “Why wouldn’t he? It’s wonderful.” Isaiah pulled me in for a kiss. “Tonight’s your night off, right? How about we celebrate with dinner. I’ll cook.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Really?” Looking into those amber eyes still made my heart all melty. “And afterwards? Should I pack a toothbrush?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched up. “Do you want to pack a toothbrush?”

  “I think I do.” I leaned closer for another kiss.

  Andrew gave a loud a-hem.

  I pulled back, not so much as embarrassed as sad. Poor Andrew was lonely. My guess was that he’d been lonely for quite some time, even when Caleb had still been around.

  I slipped my hand out of Isaiah’s and excused myself for a trip to the ladies’ room. When I came back out, I noticed a young man with ginger hair, and a sprinkle of freckles scattered across his nose. His glasses and pressed shirt made him completely adorkable. Like me, he was a coffee shop regular. Every time I saw him, he was at the same table hard at work on his laptop. He returned my polite nod of greeting, but then his eyes roamed to Andrew. His face held a wistful expression.

  I should have known better than to play Cupid. After all, Andrew had told me over and over again that he was swearing off love. However, the longing in the redhead’s eyes drew me over. “My friend Andrew is big into computers, too,” I said to break the ice. It was sort
of a half lie since Andrew wasn’t so much a computer geek as he was a computer gaming geek. “My name’s Cassie by the way.”

  The redhead dragged his eyes away from Andrew. “Blake. Your friend looks really familiar.”

  That surprised me since Andrew rarely came to the coffee shop with me. Cooking school and modeling jobs kept him very busy. Then I remembered his recent watch ad in Hour Detroit. “He’s a model,” I said.

  “That’s it! He was in a watch ad. And also in the Nordstrom’s flyer.” Blake’s pale skin showed every nuance of the blush creeping up his neck. “God, I must sound like a stalker!”

  “Maybe a little,” I teased.

  His face reddened even more. “It’s just that I work in video production. I do local ads and that kind of thing. I always notice models.”

  I’ll bet you do, I thought.

  Across the shop, Andrew was sending me warning looks. He knew exactly what I was up to and didn’t approve. That didn’t stop me from asking Blake to visit our table, however. “Why don’t you come over and say hello?”

  Blake didn’t need a second invitation. He followed me over and smiled nervously at Andrew as he offered his hand. “Blake Ashby. Your friend was telling me that you’re big into computers.”

  “Well, sort of.” Andrew threw me a desperate look. “I mean, I can send e-mail and things like that.”

  Poor Blake was growing red again. To rescue him, I said, “Drew is crazy about computer gaming, actually.” I reclaimed my seat next to Isaiah who frowned at me. More than once, he’d told me to respect Andrew’s wishes and not set him up with anyone. Ignoring Isaiah, I added, “Andrew’s a super gaming nerd.”

  Blake’s face lit up. “Me, too! I work in video production, but what I really want to do is develop games.” He nodded to the table where his laptop sat. “In fact, I’m working on one right now. There’s this game distributer? Steam?”

  That got Andrew’s attention. “The makers of Portal,” he said, breathless with awe.

  “You’ve heard of them! Some friends and I are in the final stages of developing a game that we want to run past them. It’s an action FPS. Well, action/horror.”