Stage Fright (Bit Parts) (8 page)

Just as suddenly, he let me go and stepped back.  The object in his hand disappeared like magic.  He closed his eyes and blew out a breath.  “
Never
follow me like that!”

My heartbeat drummed in my ears.  I put my hands to my chest.  “What the hell?  Are you with Special Forces or something?”

“I thought you were someone else.”

“Who?  Charles Manson?”  I eyed his jacket, wondering what his weapon was, and where he’d stashed it.

“Did you have a reason for following me?” he asked in a gentler voice.

I started to inquire about the Cipher, but then remembered the coffee shop in the galleria.  Talking about my nightmare in a warm, well-lit room would be better than outside in the cold, dark alley.  “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

He frowned.  “I don’t drink coffee.”

“Well, steamed milk then.  Or hot chocolate,” I said desperately.

He shook his head and walked away.  “Not tonight.”

“Wait!”  I chased him back onto the street.  “I want to know about the Cipher Theater!”

He stopped walking and turned around.  “What do you know about the Cipher?”

“Nothing,” I admitted.  “That’s the problem.”

His eyes held mine.  “What’s your name?”

“Cassandra Jaber.  Cassie.”

“Cassandra, do yourself a favor and forget about the Cipher.”

He turned away again, but I put my hand on his shoulder.  Under his jacket, his muscles were as hard as granite.  When he turned towards me, I said, “I auditioned at the Cipher last spring, and I know that something bad – something
really
bad – happened to me there.  But I can’t remember it.  Ever since then, I’ve been having these panic attacks.  They’re ruining my life.  I can’t work, I can’t sleep...”  I shook my head in despair and blinked back tears.

A trace of pity entered his amazing eyes.  “Let’s go get that coffee.”

The coffee house was nearly empty.  Isaiah paid for our drinks and brought them to a table in the corner.  “Double espresso after dark?  That’s living dangerously.”  Now that we were inside, the tension had drained from his shoulders.  However, his solemn expression sat so well on his face that I wondered if he ever smiled.

“It’s only six thirty,” I said.  “Besides, we actors live on the edge.”  I clutched the cup with both hands, grateful to be warm again.

“So you’re an actor.  Is that why you were hanging with the Bleak Street cast at the Lamplighter last night?”

Oh, crap.  He
did
remember.  I stammered out an apology, but he cut me off.  “You have a terrific voice.  Summer Nights never sounded so good.”

My cheeks grew hot and I groaned, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.

Amusement kindled in his eyes.  “Don’t be embarrassed.  Your singing was better than the play.”

I gave a startled laugh.  “You actually saw
County Dracula
?”

“I have season tickets to the Bleak Street.  No offense, but the play…”

“…was awful.”  I finished the sentence, so he didn’t have to.

He shook his head.  “I was going to say weird.  Could you explain why Lucy Seward and a scarecrow performed a square dance in slow motion while a sad clown played the harmonica?”

I rolled my eyes.  “I’d love to, but I have no idea.”  The depressing part was that the square dance sequence hadn’t been the strangest part of the play.  Not by a long shot.

The corners of his lips twitched up.  “The Bleak Street does show some unusual things.  Did you see
The Penguin, the Lemur, and the Cheerleader: an Apocalyptic Tale
last year?”

I snorted, almost spraying coffee through my nose.  “I’m sad to say I missed that one.”

“Count yourself lucky.”   He sipped his chai.  “What other plays have you worked on?”

“Last year, I played Cordelia in
King Lear
at the Pinnacle.”

He nodded.  “Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides…”

“…Who cover faults, at last shame them derides,” I finished, thrilled that he knew the play.  “Did you see it?”

“No.”  He shrugged, embarrassed.  “I did read the graphic novel, though.”

I laughed.  “Me, too.”  It was one of the few comics in Andrew’s collection that I’d bothered with.  “You should see the movie.  It’s very good.”

“Movies are for car chases and explosions.  Theater is better for drama.  Seeing it acted live makes it more intense.”

“I agree!”  I grinned like a fool but couldn’t help myself.  Outside of Andrew, I had no one who shared my passion for theater.  Although I wanted to debate themes and imagery in drama, most of my friends chatted about dating, celebrity gossip, and fashion trends.  Isaiah’s interest in theater was as attractive as his broad shoulders and beautiful eyes.  I wondered how I could ask for his phone number without looking too obvious.

“Are you appearing in
Julius Caesar
?” he asked.

I shook my head.  “That show was cancelled.  Next up is
16 Voices Talking at the Same Time.
”

“Victor Stuyvesant’s play,” Isaiah said grimly.

“You know him?”

“We’ve never been properly introduced.  Which, from what I understand, is not a bad thing.”

“It isn’t.  Now that I’ve met him, I’m glad that I wasn’t asked to audition for his play.”   I stared at my coffee cup.  “Well,
almost
glad.  I haven’t been onstage since, well, since… ” I took a deep breath.  It was now or never.  “… my audition at the Cipher.”

Isaiah said nothing, but his hand tightened on his cup.

I pushed my coffee aside.  “I overheard you talking to Hedda in the lobby.  You said that something happened at the Cipher last spring, and I need to know what it was.”  When he still didn’t respond, I swallowed.  “See, I kind of fainted during my audition.  One minute, I was reading for Blanche Du Bois, and the next, I was waking up backstage.”  Unexpectedly, the muscles in my neck tightened.  I winced and rubbed them.  “Everyone says it was low blood sugar, but I think – no, I
know
– that it was something else.  Something very bad.”

He swirled the tea in his cup and stared into it as if looking to read the leaves.  “Did you audition with anyone else?”

“No, it was just me.”

“And when you woke up, were you alone, or was there someone with you?”

“The stage manager was there.”

“Anyone else?  Any other actors?”

“No.”

“And afterwards, how did you feel?”

“Maybe you should read me my Miranda rights before we continue this interrogation,” I said, annoyed.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “You’re the one who wanted to talk about the Cipher.”

“Yes, because I want answers!”

“You fainted on stage.  That’s your answer.”

I dropped my eyes.  “I don’t believe it.”

“Well, what do
you
think
happened?”

I bit my lower lip.  It hadn’t been rape.  I’d checked myself when I’d gotten home that day and hadn’t discovered any bruising or torn clothing or any other clues that made me think of forced sex.  Still, I knew that I’d been violated.

Finally, I shrugged helplessly.  “I have no idea.”

After several seconds, he said, “I wish I could help you.  I know you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset!”   Then I realized that I’d been wrapping my hair around my finger so tightly that I’d cut off my circulation.  My heart was racing, and I was dangerously close to tears.  Although I wore a short-sleeved t-shirt, the coffee shop felt much too warm.  Forcing air into my lungs, I unwound my hair and gave a shaky laugh.  “It’s just that fainting on stage is a big deal for an actress,” I told him.  “A career-killer if you must know.”  I rubbed my damp palms on my jeans.  “But the worst part is not knowing what happened to me.”

A burst of cold air filled the room as a couple entered the coffee shop.  I recognized them as a pair of reporters from the Muse.

Isaiah noticed them as well.  “Looks like Luquin’s show is over.”

Which meant Elena would be packing up right now.  “I need to get back,” I said.  “But before I go, won’t you
please
tell me something about the Cipher.  Anything!”

His amber eyes once again held pity.  “The Cipher is gone now.  Try to put it behind you.”

“Thanks for the advice.”  I threw my empty coffee cup into the trash, and stormed out the door.

I arrived in the Muse’s lobby just as Elena was pushing the elevator’s down button.  Seeing me, she brightened.  “Oh, good!  You’re still here.  Geoffrey’s practically shoving me out the door.”

With my help, the two of us were able to take everything in one trip.  Or so we thought until we reached the van. 

“Where are the tablecloths?” Elena asked after we’d loaded the last box.  “I told you to grab them!”

Actually, she hadn’t, but I wasn’t going to argue.  Elena was tired and cranky, and she had the same stubborn look in her eye that my mother always got when
she
became tired and cranky.  Over the years, my dad and I had discovered that – at times like these – it was better to give in to them than make a stand.

“Don’t worry.  I’ll go get them.”

She sank onto the tailgate and slipped off a shoe.  “Make it quick.  My feet are killing me.”

I hurried back into the building and over to the elevator where another woman in a sequined mask and a trench coat jabbed furiously at the UP button.  We boarded the elevator together, and as it climbed, I realized that I knew this person.  The sweep of long blond hair over her shoulders, the mask that had been liberated from the Bleak Street prop closet, and – most incriminating – the butterfly tattoo on her ankle.

“Tabitha?”

She lowered her mask and glowered at me.  “What are
you
doing here?”

“I was helping my sister cater an art opening.”

She shrugged as if bored already.

When the elevator continued to climb, I said, “You’re not going to the Muse, are you?  I thought the event after the opening was private.”

A secret smile touched her lips.  “It’s by invitation only.”  She pulled a white envelop from the pocket of her coat.  “And I have an invitation.”  She flipped her hair over her shoulder.  “Darryl’s not the only one to catch Hedda’s eye.  She even promised to introduce me to the playwright Victor Stuyvesant.  I’m going to be his date for the evening.”

Maybe it was Geoffrey’s obvious dread, but something about the afterglow party set off my inner alarm bells.  “Do you have any idea what this occasion is all about?”

Tabby paled, but hung onto to her smug smile.  “Of course I know.  I’m not stupid.”  She pulled her coat closer around her.  “But I don’t care.  After tonight, I’m heading for Broadway.  Hedda got me a part in
Wicked
.  I don’t even have to audition.  The part is already mine.”  She lifted her chin defiantly, but a slight tremor in her jaw gave her away.

“You don’t need Hedda’s help to get a part.”

“Don’t be so naive,” she said.

Tabby’s poise only lasted until the elevator reached the top floor.  Once the doors opened, she nervously licked her lips.  “Are you staying for the party, too?”  Her eyes looked hopeful, almost pleading.

“No.  I’m just picking up tablecloths.”

She offered a shaky smile.  “Oh.  Well, then.  No matter.”

To my surprise, the lobby was dark and silent.  The open elevator doors spilled a tunnel of light through the gloom.  Beyond the lobby, in the cave-like interior of the gallery, yellow candlelight flickered.  The smell of incense, dark and musty like spices left to rot under a fallen log, tickled my nose.

Tabitha reached the gallery’s entrance and hesitated.  “Sure you don’t want to come along?”  When I shook my head, Tabby slipped into the next room.

“You’re certainly welcome to join us if you’d like.”  I yelped in surprise as a tall woman stepped out from a dark corner.  Her silver toga contrasted with her light brown skin.  Rows of tiny braids strung with colorful beads lay close to her scalp.  A moon mask with a sharply pointed chin and a leering grin covered her face.  “We could always use one more.”

I swallowed.  My head felt lighter than air.  “No thanks.  I’m just here for…  Never mind, I’ll get them tomorrow.”  I backed away towards the elevator which, mercifully, was still open.

The woman glided towards me as silently as a current of air.  “Don’t leave.”  She had a deep raspy voice, as if she’d been smoking a pack a day since toddlerhood.

From inside the gallery, a shuffle of bodies proclaimed some silent activity.  There was a muffled groan followed by an eerie murmur that lifted the hairs on my arms.  The murmur intensified, becoming a discordant chant.  From the darkness came the ringing sound of liquid splashing against metal.  The groan came again, sharper and more anguished this time.

Ice flowed through my veins.  I couldn’t bear to face whatever was happening in that room.  But at the same time, I couldn’t let whoever was groaning continue to suffer.  Licking my dry lips, I took a few cautious steps into the gallery.

“That’s right.  Come this way,” the woman said.

A hand darted from the dark to grab my wrist and draw it up between my shoulder blades.  Another hand grabbed my upper arm.  The holds were gentle, but effective.  In less than a heartbeat, I was turned away from the gallery and propelled swiftly towards the elevator.  A large foot shot out to keep the doors from closing.  Before I could utter a sound, I was in the elevator, blinking up at Isaiah.

Quick as a flash, the woman was at the elevator door.  “Go find your own plaything.”

His mouth was a hard line.  “She’s not a plaything, Marcella.”

For a moment, I feared she’d board the elevator with us, but then Hedda called her name from the other room.  Marcella’s fingers curled into claws, but she left and the elevator doors slid shut.

“You are definitely a ‘right place, wrong time’ kind of person, aren’t you?”  Isaiah looked grimly amused as he pushed the down button.  “Lucky for you, I hadn’t left yet.”

“What’s going on in there?”  My heart was still hammering.  I shifted from foot to foot in agitation.  “I heard someone groaning.  He sounded like he was in pain.”