Romance Redefined
Page 17
I WAS petrified. A mere five minutes from now, I was expected to walk out onto the stage of the Stewart Mott Playhouse and pull off the part of Edgar. No more rehearsals. It was for real this time. Opening night. I stood in the wings, stone still, convinced I wouldn’t be able to move at all when the time came. Five minutes to the first act. I wasn’t ready!
Jason appeared beside me. “So far not much of an audience. I was afraid of this. The play could sink before it’s even begun.”
“Somehow, I don’t find that reassuring,” I muttered. I was ready to flee. It took everything in me to stand still when my mind was screaming run, run, run! Oh God, I was going to embarrass myself. A total flop. I scanned the area, looking for the closest exit.
“It could have been so different,” Jason said from next to me. “You could have been with me, Ben, not your ex. Then we wouldn’t give a damn what happened to the play. We’d have each other.”
“Jason, please don’t do this. Not here. Not now.”
“I can’t help it,” Jason said. “Every time I look at you, I can’t stop thinking of what could have been. What we could have been together.”
“Jason, stop.” My palms were sweating. My throat was dry. I was light-headed. What if I forgot my lines or lost my voice? What if I passed out?
“I don’t know how I’m going to walk out on that stage and pretend you’re someone named Edgar. I’ve been an actor for a long time, Ben, but I think this one’s beyond me.”
“Jason,” I whispered fiercely, “I know you want me to realize just how miserable I’ve made you. Believe me, the message is getting through. But for right now, zip it!”
A slight smile curled Jason’s lip. “You’re no longer thinking about exiting stage left.” Jason nodded toward the stage. “You can thank me later.”
I glared at him, but there was no time to complain or slap him upside the head for messing with me. The tattered velvet curtains rose, and the lights sprang to life. Lindsey was already out there, lounging in an armchair, feet dangling over the side. It was actually a real armchair, not just a chalked square marked on the floor. Somehow, all the props had ended up ready on time after all.
Lindsey/Lori looked perfectly comfortable on stage, lolling as she glanced about the set. With just a few subtle techniques, she portrayed all the nuances of emotion. Her smile was that of someone secretly satisfied with herself; her leisurely posture conveying the inner confidence that was so much a part of Lori’s character. Lindsey was a damn good actress. Far better than I could ever hope to be. This thought didn’t do wonders for my confidence, which was already as tattered as the theater curtains.
Lindsey/Lori lazily changed position and stretched a little. My cue! And it was just as I’d feared. I was frozen. I couldn’t move.
Jason nudged me forward. “You’ll do great,” he murmured. “Go out and knock ’em dead, Ben.”
I gave Jason a startled glance. Now he decided to be encouraging? But his words seemed to do the job. At least I was walking out on stage, placing one foot in front of the other.
I couldn’t see the audience beyond the footlights. It didn’t matter, though. Just knowing people were out there was enough to send a jolt of fear through me all over again. Was Hugh part of the audience? He knew this was my big night, of course, but had he come? I was supposed to deliver my opening line. Why wouldn’t my mouth open?
Lindsey/Lori gazed at me expectantly. I still couldn’t get the words out. I knew what I was supposed to say, but I seemed to have forgotten the mechanics of speech. This was dreadful. It was terrible. I was going to disgrace myself entirely.
Lindsey/Lori did something quite unexpected then. She winked at me. It was the first time she’d evinced even a hint of camaraderie. But that was what this was all about, wasn’t it? In spite of the wretched rehearsals, the arguments, the misunderstandings, Jason and Lindsey and I were in this play together. We could make it work, the three of us. I wasn’t alone. Suddenly I found my voice.
“Lori, shouldn’t you be doing something?”
“Something like what, Uncle Edgar?”
“Anything. You can’t just sit around all day—”
“Pete will be here soon. Then I’ll be doing something, won’t I?”
Things weren’t going too badly. Maybe they were even going okay. I started to loosen up a little. I just had to stop taking everything so seriously. So maybe I wasn’t going to stun anybody with my acting ability tonight—I could live with that. As long as I really didn’t forget my lines, and as long as I gave at least a hint of Edgar’s character. No matter what, I knew Edgar—an intense, passionate, middle-aged man doing everything he could to combat loneliness—welcoming his niece and her boyfriend into his home, even as his paranoia threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to have a relationship with at least one member of his family; only his passion for Pete, the secret smoldering between them, could ruin any chance of that happening.
Jason/Pete came onto the stage and the complications began to unfold—aimless Pete caught between self-involved Lori and self-tormented Edgar. I forgot about the audience. I even forgot to wonder if Hugh was out there watching. I got caught up in the story.
We made it through the first act, then to the middle of the second. Time seemed to race, and I could only hope I wasn’t rushing my lines. But we were halfway through now. Surely I would make it the rest of the way.
Then came the moment in Act Two when Edgar was supposed to kiss Pete, and I found myself faltering. This was Jason I was supposed to kiss, a man who still professed to be in love with me. And if Hugh did happen to be watching…. Shit! I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t possibly pull it off. I couldn’t pretend any longer that I was Edgar.
I had that awful sensation again, the one that had plagued me through so many rehearsals. It was as if I were watching the character of Edgar recede farther and farther from me, almost about to vanish. I couldn’t catch up, couldn’t grasp Edgar.
Jason/Pete stepped closer.
I/Edgar walked in front of the mantelpiece. “No,” I said. “This isn’t a good idea.”
Jason/Pete took another step toward me. “Yes,” he said. “You’ve been waiting for me to do this.”
“I never wait, Pete. Not for anyone. Not for anything.”
“Then maybe I’m the one who’s been waiting.” Jason placed his lips against mine.
I froze. Goddammit, I knew Hugh was watching. I could feel it. I was just going to stand there, as stiff and unconvincing as a washboard. I was going to ruin the play after all.
Then it happened.
Somehow, Edgar came back to me. I knew just what to do, just how to act. I lifted my hands and placed them on Jason’s shoulders, returning the kiss. Except that, I didn’t think of him as Jason anymore. He was Pete, my niece’s boyfriend. Edgar felt guilty for kissing him, but he was also determined to take his chance while he could. The lights faded—end of Act Two.
And now it was the final act. The triangle of Pete and Lori and Edgar finally disintegrated. In the last scene, Edgar was alone, rejected by his lover, rejected by his niece.
The set was empty except for me/Edgar. I sank into the armchair facing stage right and gazed off into the distance. “I don’t need either one of them. I don’t need them at all.” I bowed my head, the lights faded, and the curtains came creaking down.
Applause sounded from the audience. It wasn’t overwhelming, but still, it was applause. Lindsey, Jason, and I did a curtain call—more applause, growing a bit in enthusiasm. And then Lindsey, undeniably the star of the show, took a curtain call on her own. Now the applause really got enthusiastic, with shouts of “Bravo!” That was fine with me. All I knew was that I’d made it through the play.
A happy and triumphant Lindsey actually gave me a hug. Then she gave Jason a hug. And then he gave me a hug.
“You did it,” he said. “You were really good. And I’m not just telling you that because I’m in love with you.”
“Jason—”
“I k
now. You’re a married man now. And you want me to zip it.” He released me and gave me a sorrowful smile.
Jason really did have a melodramatic streak. He was also endearing, in spite of those melodramatic tendencies. I felt a stirring of regret. Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with Jason? It would have been so convenient. So safe.
Joyce came across the stage. She looked as world-weary as ever, her dyed red hair pushed back haphazardly from her face. She surveyed Lindsey, Jason, and me.
“None of you embarrassed me completely,” she said grudgingly at last. “But you, Winthrop, you just had to play the part your way, didn’t you?”
I gazed steadily at Joyce. “Believe it or not, I tried to play it both our ways.”
“Hmph.” It wasn’t exactly approval, but it wasn’t disapproval either.
I retreated to my dressing room after that, but I was not to be alone. The uncles had traveled all the way from Charleston for my opening night, and now they converged on me.
“Congratulations, my boy,” said Uncle Johnathan. “I knew you would be a star someday.”
“John, I believe I am the one who has always encouraged Benson in his artistic endeavors,” Uncle Walt said.
“You, Walt? You never even knew our Benson wanted to be an actor.”
“I am speaking of artistic endeavors in general.”
“If it’d been up to you, Benson would have stayed in Charleston forever and never made a success of himself,” Uncle Johnathan pointed out, a troublemaker’s gleam in his eye.
“I want him to come home where he belongs, but I am still very proud of him,” Uncle Walter said in a starchy voice.
I hugged each of them in turn. “If the two of you will stop arguing long enough, I’ll tell you how much it means to me that you’re here.” I truly was delighted to see my uncles. They were my family, and the occasion wouldn’t have been the same without them. I finally understood that family would always be important to me. Living away from Charleston this past year had taught me at least that much.
But even as I spoke to my uncles, I couldn’t help looking past them to the door of the dressing room. I kept hoping and fearing that Hugh would show. Had he come to the play at all? Maybe it would be better if he hadn’t. The person who next appeared at the door was none other than my mother, beaming on the arm of her new husband.
“Mother!” I exclaimed in surprise. “I thought you were in Paris. What on earth?”
She gave me a tight embrace. “I couldn’t very well stay in France when you were having your debut, could I? You were wonderful, by the way, dear. Not that I would have expected any less. You’re my son, after all.”
“Thanks,” I said wryly. It occurred to me that perhaps I had inherited any acting talent I had from my mother—the consummate manipulator of emotions.
“Besides,” Mary Grace went on importantly, “I couldn’t possibly stay in Paris when it’s so clear you need my help with Hugh.”
Speaking of manipulation. I struggled with the mixture of fondness and annoyance that Mary Grace always provoked in me. “I think Hugh and I will just have to work out our problems on our own, Mother.”
“Nonsense.”
She was prevented from saying more, because Charles stepped up to congratulate me himself. “You did an excellent job tonight. You should be proud of yourself,” he said solemnly. Then he lowered his voice. “I can possibly arrange to fly your mother to Rome for a few weeks. I understand that’s a romantic city too—”
“I can hear you,” Mary Grace said imperturbably. “Charles, it’s no use. I shall meddle in my son’s life no matter where you whisk me off to.” Then she was the one who lowered her voice confidentially as she leaned toward me. “I believe I have finally convinced Charles that we can be just as romantic at home as abroad. We can go for strolls together, watch old movies, that sort of thing. Small-scale romance, so to speak. Of course, we will be quite busy in the next few months, refurbishing the Bayard home. Hugh has decided to sell to us—but of course you knew that.”
I hadn’t known. Hugh hadn’t shared that rather important piece of information with me. There was so much he didn’t share.
“Well, we must all get out of here and leave Benson a few moments of peace,” Mary Grace said, looking rather mysterious. “Come along. You both need to sit down.”
“I’m hardly an invalid,” grumbled Uncle Walter. “You don’t need to mollycoddle me, Mary Grace.”
“Speak for yourself, Walt,” said Uncle Johnathan. “I like to be mollycoddled. Mollycoddle away.”
“John, if you are trying to be snide about my choice of words….”
The small shabby dressing room seemed oddly lonely when everyone had finally exited. Hugh hadn’t shown of course. I had refused to put myself through the humiliation of asking whether he’d even come.
I sat down in front of the makeup table, melancholy dampening my excitement. It was only now that I noticed flowers had been delivered sometime during the evening. A crystal vase stood on the table before me, filled with roses. I stared at the flowers, not quite daring to hope. Had Hugh sent them? I snatched the card lying nestled in the arrangement and scanned it eagerly.
My love endures, though you belong to another. To your happiness always.
I crumpled the card. Why did Jason have to keep behaving in this extravagant manner? I knew I’d hurt him, but Jason was turning himself into a martyr.
That wasn’t what really disturbed me, though. I couldn’t believe that once again I’d longed for something to be from Hugh, only to find out that it was from Jason instead. When would I stop hoping for all the things Hugh couldn’t give?
“Hello, Benny.”
I twisted around and saw him standing in the doorway. Hugh looked very elegant and commanding in a herringbone suit. My heartbeat quickened absurdly. I placed a hand to my chest as if that would somehow restrain my wayward pulse.
“Let me guess,” I said as coolly as possible. “My mother sent you back here.”
He came into the room. “Mary Grace likes to think she’s orchestrating the world, but I’m actually here of my own volition.”
“Well,” I said stiffly, “did you enjoy the play?”
Hugh didn’t answer for some moments, just gazed at me, his expression unreadable. What secrets did he really hide behind those dark eyes and obdurate features? Would he ever allow me to know?
“I thought you were sufficiently convincing in the role,” Hugh said at last. Trust him not to overstate the case. I didn’t have to worry about flattery where Hugh was concerned.
“Thank you, I suppose.”
“You were particularly convincing in the scene where you kissed Collins.”
“You’re not going to start that again, are you? I’m playing a part. What happened between Jason and me is finished. If you can’t realize that, then you don’t know me very well at all. I’ve always been faithful to you. That hasn’t changed, even though what we have can hardly be called a marriage.” My tone was more bitter than I’d intended.
I twisted around again to face the pocked mirror. Taking a tissue, I began the process of wiping off my stage makeup. I needed a task to keep myself occupied, anything to prevent me from showing Hugh how much he affected me. How much I cared.
Hugh came to the table, picked up the crumpled card, and read it. “Collins just won’t give up.”
I felt compelled to defend Jason. “He’s just being… theatrical.”
“He’s being a jerk,” Hugh stated flatly.
Anger stirred inside me. “At least Jason isn’t afraid to admit he feels things. And if he gets carried away with what he feels… well, at least he feels deeply enough to get carried away!”
“As opposed to me of course,” Hugh said. “You believe I never get carried away.”
“I don’t just believe it, I know it.” That melancholy settled deeper inside me. I knew Hugh’s passion only when he took me to bed. Why couldn’t Hugh give me the deeper passion I craved?
“Hugh, Jason isn’t the problem between us. When will you realize that?”
I gave up the pretense of keeping busy. I pushed away the box of tissues and gazed at my reflection. My face was still streaked here and there with makeup, and I looked strangely mournful.
Hugh pulled over a chair and sat down next to me. “Somehow, I think Collins is the problem,” he said. “I think, no matter what you say, that you keep comparing me to him. You’ve set him up as some knight in shining armor.”
I felt that familiar ache, the one that had been with me for such a long time now. It had everything to do with Hugh and nothing to do with Jason. But how could I make Hugh understand?
“Hugh,” I said carefully, “Jason isn’t the man I want. I tried to make him be the one, but it just didn’t work.”
“I’m not the man you want, either, am I, Benny?”
The ache inside me constricted my heart. All I longed to do was go into Hugh’s arms and tell him yes, yes, of course he was the man I wanted. The only man I wanted! But then everything would be the same as it had always been—Hugh leading, while I followed, my life revolving around Hugh’s, my love for Hugh growing all the more, while he refused to love me in return.
I turned away from him. I turned away from the mirror, too, so that he wouldn’t be able to see the yearning betrayed in my reflection. Did Hugh understand what my silence meant? He couldn’t know. I clenched my hands tightly in my lap and kept my face averted.
Hugh shifted restlessly. “What will it take to make this marriage work?” he asked, sounding almost impatient. “We can’t afford another failure, Ben.”
I wondered if Hugh saw it only in those terms—failure or success. Didn’t he view his business in much the same way? Something that could be measured through cost analysis, a certain amount of expenditures, a certain amount of profits. Did the benefits outweigh the costs?
I still refused to look at him. I knew I couldn’t gaze into Hugh’s eyes and still have the courage for what I needed to say.