Stage Fright (Bit Parts) (42 page)

We all clinked glasses.

The mac and cheese was a bit dry, and the compote overly sweet, but it was a vast improvement from Andrew’s previous attempts.  Both Perry and Isaiah asked for seconds, and Perry went back for thirds.  Andrew alternated between smiles and frowns, pleased that his guests enjoyed the meal, but unhappy about the quality of the dishes.

When the guys began a discussion about Superman’s code of ethics as they pertained to white, middle-class America, I opted to make coffee and serve dessert.  As the token female member of the Fabulous Four, I would no doubt have to endure many more philosophical discussions about comic books.

As I filled the coffee pot with water, Isaiah came into the kitchen carrying several dirty plates.  “I wondered where you’d disappeared to.”  He gathered me into his arms and kissed my forehead.  “I worried that you’d slipped off to the theater again.”  Over the past few weeks, he’d been gently complaining about how much time I’d been spending at the Cipher.

I pressed myself against his chest and ran my hands along his broad back.  “I saw Hedda today.  She looked terrible.  For a vampire, that is.  I tried to make her listen to me about Charles stealing her grieve, but she refused to hear a word of it.”

“She’s a vampire, and she was ordered to hand over her grieve by older, stronger vampires.”

“But she’s not even
trying
to get it back.  In fact, I’m worried that she’s starving herself.  I think it’s why she looked so old.”  I laid my head on his shoulder.  “Maybe I should let this go, but I
can’t
.  Hedda was cheated out of everything she loves.”

Andrew poked his head into the kitchen.  “Can I come in?  Or are you two making a love sandwich?”

I pulled a face.  “Ugh.  Stop already.  I was telling Isaiah about Hedda.”  Over the past few weeks, I’d slowly filled Andrew in on the vampire drama.  He agreed that Charles was a bastard and didn’t deserve to run Hedda’s grieve, but at the same time, he couldn’t offer any suggestions on what to do about it.

Andrew gathered coffee mugs from the cupboard, then took the coffee pot back to the dining room.

“Um, Drew honey, there’s only water in that pot.  The coffee hasn’t started brewing.”

He flushed.  “Right.”  He poured the water into the coffee maker.

Not only had Charles stolen Hedda’s grieve, he’d also – in a way – stolen Andrew’s shine as well.  I couldn’t let him get away with that.  Somehow, I had to bring Charles to justice.

While we were eating dessert, I talked more about Hedda’s visit to the theater.  “She told me that
Six Voices
was very good.  That it was real art because it told the truth.”

“Charles won’t be happy if the play is a success,” Andrew said.  “He’s always hated it.”

“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 held 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.