Little Disquietude (9 page)

"Very funny. Sunday I'm in a studio. They're
putting me on another CD."

"Tres delicious."

"Angel got fired from his show," Leah
said.

"Because of his nose?"

"Yes."

"I don't know why you hang out with losers,
Leah."

"I don't know. Adam."

"Very cute."

"He spent the whole day with me," Leah
said.

"That's because he has no other friends."

"He's going to be bigger than all of us
someday," Leah said.

"So you say. He's got the voice of an angel.
He's the next Euan Morton."

"So why won't he work with you, is what
you're saying?" Leah asked.

"I know why he won't. And, Leah, he's
thirty-five. He's never going to be bigger than us. He'll never
live up to your Hugh Laurie expectations."

"You're projecting."

"Do you hear me, Leah?"

"Yes. Don't do drugs."

"And lay off all the drinking," he said.

"What am I supposed to do, Adam? I'm an
actor. I have demons. Demons, Adam."

"So act. Put them into your characters so
they won't live in you. Hey, I'm writing that down. Oh, and listen,
we're sending a car for you on Tuesday. Look for your name."

She heard him rustling around, searching for
paper, and hung up on him.

* * *

She put on her sunglasses before walking
gingerly down the gangway to the surface of the earth. The terminal
rose up before her. She sweated in her leather jacket, which had
seemed appropriate in the cool New York air and the freezing air
conditioning at LaGuardia.

Her jeans stuck to her thighs as if they'd
been spackled on. She crept toward the terminal, which was too tiny
to legitimately be an airport, and through the refreshing air
conditioning and onto the street again, where Sophia stood, holding
a sign with her last name scrawled across it in purple magic
marker.

"What are you doing here?" Leah asked, as
Sophia hugged her.

"When I was third witch/understudy, this is
what I did," Sophia said.

"You were third witch?"

"I was very scary," Sophia said.

"As if."

"Anyway, Adam sent me."

"Oh, so it's Adam now."

"He's interesting. If I spend any more time
talking with the
Macbeth
crowd I'm going to kill them. I've
been hearing I only got the part because I was sleeping with
Elaine."

"How is Elaine?"

Sophia's face fell. She met Leah's eyes, and
said, "She's in the hospital again."

"I'm sorry." Leah put her free hand on
Sophia's elbow and hefted her bag up again with the other.

"It's all right. They're all going to the zoo
tomorrow. Photo op. So I thought I'd at least take today and have a
change of scenery."

"So I'm scenery," Leah said.

"Very nice scenery."

The low heat that had begun in Leah's abdomen
at seeing Sophia spiked into white fire.

Sophia asked, "How was New York?"

"I needed a change of scenery, too."

"Yeah?"

"It made me appreciate why I'm here."

Sophia didn't move as Leah leaned in to cup
her cheek. Leah kissed her. Sophia responded to Leah's pressure
with her own, nuzzling Leah's lips. For a moment, everything was
perfect and still, and then Sophia pulled back to study her
face.

Leah let go of Sophia and looked around. If
everyone had seen them, they were politely looking away now. She
shrugged.

Sophia kissed her cheek.

Leah smiled. "I think I know why I'm in
Poe
now."

"That was some trip."

"Well. It was some trip back."

* * *

"Hey, Leah," Adam called from the third row.
"What do you think of the name
Edgar Allen Poe
try? Get
it?"

She would have flipped him off but the
producers were there to watch the first tech rehearsal. She settled
for sighing. "Ha. Ha."

"Okay, let's do Dream. From the top."

Leah went to the wings. Ward stood on stage,
presumably outside her building, waiting for her to come home. She
tried to think of herself in love, scared, thirteen years old, but
all that came to her was Sophia. She inhaled, squared her
shoulders, then let them slump and went on stage.

Ward caught her arm. He pulled her around.
"Virginia," he said. His voice was low--meant to be a whisper, but
no one could whisper on stage. So, just quiet. Library voice.
Indoor intensity on the outside stoop in Boston.

"You shouldn't be here," she said. She pulled
out of his grip, and went downstage.

He was supposed to follow her, but he stayed,
and cried out, louder now, "Virginia."

"You can't be here. This can't happen. It's
not real," she said. She thought of saying the words to Sophia, and
couldn't think of any reason to say them, not Virginia's
reasons--age and propriety and other loves--and yet, her eyes
filled with tears. She blinked them away.

Ward, damn him, was still upstage, trying to
force her to turn around and see his pain. His want, his desire,
naked on his face. And the audience wouldn't see the grief on hers.
She said, "Go away."

"Virginia," he whispered, hoarse and
frustrated.

She turned around, and stalked past him. With
her back to the audience, she gave him a little smirk. He seized
her arm, and squeezed a little too hard. She yelped.

"Take this kiss upon the brow," he said, and
kissed her temple. His teeth grazed her skin. It felt like a
violation. She pushed his chest, and when he let her go, went into
the house. Behind the set, she listened to him sing.

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

She cried, behind the stage, silently where
no one could hear her, and then she went to the little fake window,
made of plastic. Ward paced the stage, histrionic, brutalized by
her little rejection.

He clenched his fist, and said, "I stand amid
the roar of a surf-tormented shore, and I hold within my hand
grains of the golden sand."

Leah watched and listened as the
music--Adam's five piece orchestra--created the sound of the ocean.
Ward never looked back at her. He raged only for the audience.

"Bravo," Adam called from the seats as Ward's
song ended and he got off his knees. Leah came through the front
door. Adam met her eyes, and smiled. "Not in the stage directions,
but perfect. The agony of your restraint against whatever was
inside you was admirable."

"She didn't look at me once," Ward said.

"She didn't have to," Adam said. "You were
always right there."

* * *

Rehearsal broke around seven-thirty. Leah was
so exhausted she'd spent the last two hours crying, off and on, in
jagged shuddering. She'd lost her voice. Adam had yelled at her for
not being more temperate, for not monitoring herself. So she'd
become histrionic, like a rebellious child, never mind that he was
right.

She was too keyed up to go home. If she did,
Adam would make tea and she'd go to bed early, only to do it all
over again tomorrow morning. That was too depressing to
contemplate.

She had a dress fitting at three the next
day. That was too depressing to contemplate, too.

Her back ached. She settled herself on the
brick retaining wall of a yard across the street from the theater
and watched the audience appear for
Macbeth
. There were
crowds of people--senior citizens, young parents and children,
dating couples--all dressed in Sunday best, greeting each other
with long-lost joy. They were treating themselves to a show
tonight. Some of them might have waited all year.

Each of those watchers would feel powerful,
catered to, special. They were paying for the privilege of having
people perform for them, just them, something their fellow man
would never experience; not on that night, not at that time.

Leah knew the intoxication of being stared
at, desired, and loved. She wanted to join the crowd and be a part
of its energy. She wanted to see Sophia on stage again.

The crowds thinned, and then disappeared
completely into the theater, leaving the street empty in the last
vestiges of daylight. She went to the ticket booth, where they were
closing up and counting money.

"Hey, Leah," Seth said. "You want a ticket?"
A summer intern from the community college's theater department,
his nose and both ears were pierced, and he had a chorus part in
South Pacific
.

"No. Full house tonight?"

"Oh, yeah. Sold out. All the season ticket
holders showed up, too. Fatime looked for empty seats, but they
were all gone."

Fatime, the overweight, smiling high school
girl who had just wanted a summer job that didn't involve the food
or retail industries, nodded in agreement.

Leah imagined people waiting months in
advance, or maybe years, buying tickets to shows they didn't even
care about, just because it might be interesting. And they had no
idea they'd be getting someone like Sophia. Only a few knew to hope
for Elaine.

"So, what do you do now that everyone's
trapped inside the theater?" Leah asked.

"Yell fire?" Seth said.

Fatime shot a rubber band at him.

He winced and said, "Now we sit around and
talk for a half hour, then we start getting the food ready. Snacks
for the cast, champagne and candy bars for the tourists at
intermission. We point people to the bathrooms, organize the lines.
You know."

"And you guys volunteer for this?"

Seth grinned. "I get school credit."

"Part of my parole," Fatime said.

Leah's eyes widened.

Fatime winked.

"In New York, you guys would be unionized,"
Leah said.

Seth raised his fist. "Join us, famous actor
lady."

Leah's face grew hot. "I should go," She
said.

"Oh, come on, stay," Fatime said. "Tell us
about New York?"

There was an eagerness in her voice that
compelled Leah, so she went behind the desk and sat in an
uncomfortable wicker chair, and let herself feel important to two
school kids who handed out playbills because they wanted to
act.

* * *

Fatime cracked the auditorium doors as
Macbeth died. Leah felt a pang. Lady Macbeth was already dead.
Swarms of people left after the house lights went up, like a wave
pouring out of the theater. Some lingered, chatting with each
other, or waiting for the actors to make appearances in the lobby.
Their family, their friends.

A couple had flowers for Banquo.

Sophia walked through the lobby with Oscar,
who Leah recognized as Macduff by the boyish haircut and the
circles of makeup under his eyes, smeared by his recent anguish. He
smiled, leaning in to tease Sophia about something. She elbowed him
in the ribs and he danced away, and then circled back, putting his
arm around her.

Leah watched, torn between possessiveness and
paralysis. Sophia spotted her and smiled.

As they walked closer, Leah moved to
intercept them. "Hey," she said.

"Hi," Sophia said. She hugged Leah, and
asked, "Did you see the show tonight?"

"No, I was just hanging around after a late
rehearsal."

"That's good," Oscar said. "You missed a
doozy."

"Oh?"

Sophia glared at him, but Oscar grinned and
said, "Someone forgot her lines."

"Someone threw my timing off."

"Well, tonight it wasn't about the seduction
of a man," Oscar said. "It was about getting through lines without
choking. And yet, dude, standing ovation. People over appreciate
us."

"Or there's power in simply being," Leah
said. She had her hand on Sophia's shoulder. Sophia leaned into
her, just enough to let her know she was pressing back, seeking
more. Leah brushed her thumb against Sophia's arm. Sophia flashed
her a smile.

"Drinks, ladies?" Oscar asked.

Leah was tempted, but hanging out in the
theater for three hours had tempered her exhaustion into mere
fatigue. She shook her head.

"Tomorrow," Sophia said. "Tonight I'm going
to soak in a hot tub."

"And?" Oscar prodded.

"And read my lines," she said, and scowled at
him.

Leah grinned.

Sophia shot her a glance. "Memorizing is
hard."

"Everything's hard about Shakespare," Leah
said.

"See?"

Oscar shrugged. He squeezed Sophia's forearm
and kissed Leah's cheek and went to deign to talk to the crowd
waiting for him. To thank him for his Macduff, for pouring out his
heart on the stage, and making them think of their children.

"What do you think Shakespeare would have
thought of psychology?" Leah asked.

Sophia turned her head to put her chin on
Leah's fingers. "He would have a justification for why we are all
so much less than we aspire to be."

"Deep."

"I take issue with his barren woman leads to
madness idea, though," Sophia said.

"I think you need to take that up with
Freud."

"If I'm talking about anything with Freud,
I'm starting with my mother."

"I don't know anything about your mother,"
Leah said.

Sophia frowned. She pulled away from Leah
slightly. "My mother's--my mother."

"Let me walk you home," Leah said.

Sophia raised her eyebrows.

"Just to the door of the roach motel."

Sophia smiled. Leah turned to the lobby exit.
Once on the street, Leah bumped Sophia as they walked, close enough
to brush against each other. Leah grasped Sophia's wrist, and slid
her fingers down to intertwine with Sophia's. The answering squeeze
Sophia gave her hand thrilled her. She squeezed back. She wanted to
win more response in Sophia, to see the pleasure flush Sophia's
cheeks, to make her smile, to be the cause of it.