Thoughts While Having Sex

by Stephanie Lehmann

Melanie: "Okay."

  Julia: "Are you sure? Because this has to be your decision."

  Melanie: "Yes."

  Julia: "Fine. I'll go tell Mom and Dad."

  Kelly walked to the door stage left and paused before exiting.

  Julia: "I'm glad that I'm here to help. After all. That's what sisters are for. Right?"

  She exited, and the lights went out, and I got offstage, relieved to get that scene over with. I wanted to shake myself free of it like a dog jiggles dry after getting wet. But Kelly was changing outfits again, and before I knew it we were back out there in the third scene. It's a year later, and Julia is desperate. It was the same passage Annie had complained about in rehearsal. The one that had been so hard to rewrite. And I realized that I had to go through the feelings again, not just in a coffee shop with a muffin to get me through the words on the page, but out loud in front of an audience.

  Julia: "I've lost my lease. I'll end up on the street. But you don't give a fuck, do you, all you care about is yourself!"

  Melanie: "How can you say that? Who lent you money when you quit your job and couldn't go a day without getting high? Who stayed up with you night after night because you thought spiders on your shower curtain were going to eat you alive?! I hate you for making me feel this way, Julia! Hate you! And I'm not letting you do it anymore! Because you've never been happy no matter what I do. There was always something making you angry, some injustice, some reason to yell and scream and throw a fit and make everyone around you feel unhappy like we were all doing something wrong." (I looked up from the script. I knew the rest of the speech by heart.) "But it wasn't us—it was you. Selfish, egotistical, mentally unbalanced chemically screwed-up you! Well I've spent my life tiptoeing my own needs around you and it never does any good, so just stop asking me for help and leave me alone!"

  Kelly glared at me, fiercely.

  Julia: "Fine. Enjoy having your apartment all to yourself. And don't worry, I'll never ask you for anything, ever again."

  Melanie: "That sounds good to me."

  Julia: "Have a nice life, Melanie." Kelly paused at the doorway. Turned around. "I dare you to have a nice life."

  She exited.

  Blackout.

  Intermission.

  As I got offstage I could hear applause from the audience, and when we were safely in the wings, the lights went up. The applause frittered away, and I wondered what everyone out there thought, but I couldn't dwell on it. Kelly and I went backstage without speaking. I collapsed onto a chair.

  Under normal circumstances I like hanging out with actresses at intermission. It's fun to see them switch from their onstage personas to their real selves and then back to their onstage personas. But there was no way I was going to do that with her now.

  Kelly didn't say anything. She drank some water and fixed her makeup. I drank some water too—actually felt the need to "replenish my fluids"—and watched as she put some cream on her face that gave it a kind of white cast.

  That's when it dawned on me: the hardest part was still ahead. The so-called infamous "ghost scene." I wondered how Kelly felt now about doing it. Resentful? Or had Peter made it well worth her while?

  I looked at myself in the mirror. Thought of putting makeup on, but it was just as well I looked like a wreck. The character was a wreck. Why pretend otherwise? Maybe Kelly had been right. Maybe this scene would be a fiasco. A joke. Idiotic and stupid. I would make a total fool out of myself out there both as writer and actor in one swoop.

  Worse yet, maybe the scene would get to me so much I'd break down into uncontrollable sobs in front of everyone.

  By now, Kelly had changed into skintight black pants, a skintight black tank top, and black stilettos. Sure, she was playing someone dead, but she looked great. Powerful.

  I put on some lipstick. Carol poked her head in and asked if everything was okay.

  "My pits are totally sweaty. Do you know if there's anything I could change into?"

  "Here."

  She tossed me the black sweatshirt she'd been wearing.

  "Thanks."

  "We'll be starting back up in ten minutes."

  I pulled on the sweatshirt. Just as well that it looked oversized and plain. In this scene I'd be unpacking boxes of Julia's things from her apartment.

  Carol poked her head back in. "Places."

  My stomach muscles clenched up. Kelly stood up and stretched out. Totally calm. I had to hand it to her. She hadn't gone up on her lines once. As a matter of fact, she'd been doing an incredibly good job. She didn't look at me or say anything as we went out onstage. I followed, gripping the script, my life raft, to my chest. No matter how insecure I felt, in order for this scene to work, just like I'd been willing Annie all along, I had to be a worthy opponent.

  We passed by Peter, who was standing by the curtain. I couldn't resist looking at him, searching out some sort of praise. I was doing like he wanted and I was doing okay, right? Some reassurance would've been nice. Just a tiny smile. That's all I wanted.

  But he didn't look at me; he looked at Kelly. Just before going onstage, she paused in front of him, and he leaned over, and they kissed each other full on the lips. And he knew I was looking. He knew.

  His gaze followed her out onstage. He didn't acknowledge me at all. I hated him. I hated her. I wanted to kill them both.

  The lights came up.

  There was the audience. Waiting. Expecting. Nothing to do but begin. We flew through the first pages of the scene, where it gradually becomes apparent that Julia's dead.

  Melanie: "I'm sorry about the things I said. I didn't mean to get so angry."

  Julia: "But you did get angry, didn't you."

  Melanie: "I called the next day."

  Julia: "Not this again."

  Melanie: "And I left a message."

  Julia: "We know, we know."

  Melanie: "And I told you I changed my mind and you could move in."

  Julia: "But you were too late."

  As we continued on, I was vaguely aware that no one in the audience moved or made a sound.

  Melanie: "There's still the hope that you've just gone on a walk, and you'll be coming up the stairs to your apartment any second, and I'll say, 'God! Julia! Where have you been! I was starting to think...' "

  Julia: "And I would say, 'Melanie, I'm so happy you've come. If I'd known, I would've made some dinner. Your favorite pasta, with sweet Italian sausage.' "

  Melanie: "You enjoy this part, don't you."

  Julia: "You had a standing invitation."

  Melanie: "The bathroom door was open."

  Julia: "But I wasn't standing."

  I paused, unsure if I could get through the speech. My throat closed up. I tried to breathe, to force my voice out. It was barely above a whisper. Dead quiet in the theater. Except for my voice.

  Melanie: "You were sitting on the floor, leaning against the tile wall. Limp. Like a marionette without its strings. In your white slip. The pink bath mat pushed up against the tub. Like you'd slipped. Slipped in your slip. Your eyes open and your face white and you had this frown."

  Kelly hardened her face. She'd never liked this speech because she never knew what she was supposed to be doing while Melanie was saying it. My eyes searched her out, and she looked away. Yes, I thought. Look away. "Like you were very angry. No, not angry. Just very sad. And 1 backed out of the room. And sunk down onto your unmade bed. And said your name out loud. 'Julia.' I wanted to talk to you. 'Look what's happened! Look what you did!' But we would never be able to talk about it. I would never be able to tell you that you're dead."

  Kelly started to circle me, singing that song from White Christmas. "'Sister, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters. Never had to have a chaperone, no sir. I'm there to keep my eye on her....'"

  Melanie: "It's my fault, isn't it. I wouldn't let you move in with me. I said such horrible things. And you went home angry, hating me..."

  Julia: (still singing) "'Sharing, caring, ev'ry little
thing that we are wearing. When a certain gentleman arrived from Rome, she wore the dress and—'"

  Melanie: "You got some pills out of the medicine cabinet. And you took them; you took them all. And you thought, 'This will show her!'"

  Julia: "Have a nice life, Melanie."

  Melanie: "Tell me you didn't do it."

  Julia: "I dare you to have a nice life."

  I stood. Started to circle her.

  Melanie: "I wish..."

  Julia: "Be careful."

  Melanie: "I wish..."

  Julia: "Be careful!"

  Melanie: "I wish you had never been born."

  Julia: "Uh huh."

  Melanie: "And your misery never had the chance to be felt."

  Julia: "I can't believe it. The little coward is finally going to tell us how she feels."

  I looked at Kelly. Kelly, not Julia. That was not the line I wrote. And, as I seriously considered saying, What the fuck are you doing? she grabbed my script, threw it on the bed and smirked at me.

  Maybe there was something honorable somewhere in her intentions. Maybe she wanted to get my head out of the script so I would stop using it as a crutch. But I wasn't puzzling out her motives right then. I wanted to murder her. Too bad the audience was waiting. And I had no weapon. And I happened to know my line. I wasn't sure if I knew the whole speech, and it was a big one, but I took the plunge anyway.

  Melanie: "I have lived my entire life with your unhappiness looming over me. Like a stunted little scraggly bush growing under the shade of a gigantic overgrown tree with huge fat branches that snake around me like tentacles sucking the life out of me. I wanted your suffering out of my way, out of my life. I wanted you dead! Dead and gone! Because if you had never lived, just imagine. My life. It would've been an entirely different story."

  I stood there frozen, waiting for lightning to strike me dead.

  Julia: "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Our prime suspect has finally confessed."

  Melanie: "I wished you dead and you died."

  Julia: "So you get the credit?"

  Melanie: "Guilty as charged. Case closed."

  Julia: "As if your guilt could solve anything."

  Melanie: "I'm sorry."

  Julia: "Your guilt is useless."

  Melanie: "I am responsible for your death."

  Kelly laughed and walked to the door.

  Melanie: "Where are you going?"

  Julia: "Out of your mind."

  Melanie: "Wait, you can't go."

  Julia: "I'm sorry."

  Melanie: "I won't let you!"

  Julia: "Not your choice."

  Melanie: "Please don't go!"

  Kelly opened the door, stepped out, and closed the door behind her. The set didn't fall over.

  I sat down on the bed. The lights went down. Everything was black for a moment and then everything was bright again. Kelly stood next to me and we faced the audience. Faced the applause. It was over.

  Thank God.

  What a relief.

  My entire body began to shake again. I thought my knees would give out as I took a bow. How bizarre to be standing up there in front of the applause instead of hiding in the last row behind it. Rows of faces smiled at me. I smiled back. Clapping was such a ridiculous gesture. People acting like a bunch of trained seals. But such a sweet sound when they were applauding for you. Kelly turned and clapped for me too. Smiling. We hugged. Look what we did.

  My sister would've been proud.

  Well, maybe not proud. Annoyed, more likely, to have to share the spotlight.

  But a little proud.

  Carol brought us each a bouquet of flowers. Pink roses. Peter must've gotten them. I felt guilty, as I breathed in the sweet scent, that I hadn't brought any for the others. Finally we left the stage, and Carol was nudging me—"I bet you're gonna want to be an actress now, huh."

  "No way."

  Rocco Shorenstein, a rotund man in his 60s (of course) was already backstage with Peter.

  "Where is she?" Rocco asked. "Very moving! I want to meet this talented young woman."

  I almost had a coronary. Was someone in a position to do something amazing with my career actually saying I was talented?

  "This is the playwright, of course," Peter said, indicating me, "and—"

  "There she is!" Rocco said, going straight to Kelly. He shook her hand so vehemently, she almost dropped her flowers. "You are going to be famous one day, my dear!" he proclaimed.

  She laughed and said oh so politely, "Why thank you."

  "You were fantastic!"

  "Thank you so much."

  "And this," said Peter, "is the playwright, Jennifer Ward."

  "Good job out there, sweetie. And the writing is excellent." (He didn't shake my hand.) "Now what do you plan to do with it?" Rocco asked, turning to Peter. "What's the next step?"

  "Well, we have a month to run," Peter said, "and we hope to get some reviews, and of course we hope to find a producer who would be interested in moving it to a larger theater."

  "I wish you all the luck in the world," Rocco said. "It's a fine play. They certainly should do more plays like that on Broadway. But, you know, they don't like dramas. Unless it's Miller, or maybe Mamet, but otherwise it's musicals and comedies, and even those are tough."

  "We'd settle for Off Broadway," I said, surprised to hear my own voice enter the conversation, "but it never hurts to be ambitious."

  "Right you are little lady! Now, that last scene..." He turned to Kelly. "When you came back as a ghost, that was fantastic. So theatrical. I love it!"

  He said this to her as if she'd thought it up. Kelly glowed with pride as if she had. I fought off the urge to mention she'd thrown a fit to have it changed, walked out on rehearsals, slept with Peter.

  "Just riveting!" he raved on. "Do you have an agent?"

  "Bernie Warner," she said, "at ICM."

  "Have Bernie give me a call tomorrow morning. I've got a part for you in my next play."

  "Thank you. I'll have him call. Thank you so much."

  "Thank you for coming, Mr. Shorenstein," Peter said.

  “My pleasure.” Rocco gave Kelly one last look. "Call me."

  As Peter escorted him out, Kelly turned to me. "So, how does the playwright feel?"

  "That was the most excruciating experience of my life."

  "And you loved every minute of it."

  I had to agree.

  The cast and crew went to Rosie O'Grady's and sat at a big round table in the back. As I looked over the menu that I knew so well, I started to come back down to earth, and became aware of feeling a bit odd to be celebrating. It seemed to be, to some extent, at my sister's expense. I knew there would be more than enough time to inflict guilt on myself later, so I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and ordered a huge plate of chicken fingers.

  Just as we were toasting the play, Annie came running in. "I knew I'd find you all here. What happened?! Did you do it? Who went on in my place?"

  "We put in a call to Drew Barrymore and she happened to be available," Carol said.

  "I hope she's not going to replace me."

  "She wanted to, but we said no," Peter said, standing up to pull a chair in for her. "Because the playwright herself decided to step in."

  "You!" she screamed, looking at me. "I don't believe it."

  "Neither do I."

  "So are you going to be an actress now?"

  Kelly burst out laughing. "You should've seen how nervous she was. Her body was having its own private earthquake."

  "I am so glad that's over with," I said to Annie. "Don't you dare miss another performance."

  But thank you, I thought, for missing just this one.

  I didn't know if Kelly left with Peter. I didn't want to know. I left before they did and went home to collapse in my bed. I allowed myself to hope that whatever had gone on between them was an aberration. He'd wake up horrified, tell her their night of sex had been a big mistake, and plead for my forgiveness. I spent
the next day looking forward to watching the play, which I still hadn't seen performed all the way through. When I got to the theater, the lobby was empty. Peter wasn't in his office. I heard voices in the theater, so I went in. Peter and Kelly sat in the front row. He had his arm draped over her shoulder. She was laughing.

  I turned myself around and went back to the elevator and let myself out onto the street. At least I hadn't made a sound. No one had seen me. No one knew I'd been there. My presence wasn't required, so I wouldn't be missed. At this point, as a matter of fact, I had no reason to show my face again. I'd gone from being the absolute center of attention to being irrelevant.

  Depressing. Yet satisfying, too. My play existed without me—it had taken on a life of its own.

  But I was fooling myself. Curiosity drove me back the very next night. I timed my arrival for just after they began so I wouldn't have to speak with anyone.

  Beth was out front closing down the box office. "Hey," she said, "where you been?"

  "Around."

  "Well guess what. You're sold out. Not one seat left."

  "Really?"

  "You look disappointed."

  "No, it's just, I was going to watch the show tonight."

  Beth put the money in an envelope. "I guess you could stand in the back."

  “True.”

  Kelly's voice floated in from the theater. "Not to mention, it keeps the wolves at bay. On the fifth floor there's always the danger of someone breaking in from the roof."

  I sank into the sofa. "Maybe I'll just sit out here and listen."

  "Suit yourself," Beth said, taking the money into Peter's office.

  They got through the first act beautifully. It seemed like a poem to me that night. The dialogue flowed seamlessly and rhythmically, with no extra air, no extra words. It was the first time I'd heard it through as it was meant to be heard. It didn't matter that I couldn't see them. I could picture everything just fine in my head.

  As people applauded for intermission, I headed out the door, took a walk, bought some M&Ms, and then returned to the lobby just as the last few people straggled back into the theater. I was enjoying sneaking in to see my own play with no one knowing I was there. But then, towards the end of the second act, Peter emerged from his office.

  "Hello," he said. "I didn't know you were out here."