Stage Fright (Bit Parts) (11 page)

I blushed to the roots of my hair.  Isaiah looked murderous.

I cleared my throat.  “I’m here to buy a comic book for my friend, but I don’t know what to get.  I was hoping you could help me out.”

For the first time since I’d met him, Isaiah offered me a real smile.  It melted me from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.  He really did have amazing eyes.  It wasn’t just the color; it was the expression in them.  They held self assurance and despair in equal measure, like the eyes of a heartbroken hero.

I blinked.  Easy girl, I told myself.  Don’t let those eyes mess with your common sense.  Gorgeous or not, the Proceed with Caution sign is still around that man’s neck.

“Do you know what series your friend reads?” Isaiah asked.

Since Andrew had dragged me to enough comic stores, I should have known.  Still, I wasn’t sure.  “X-Men, maybe?”

“How about favorite authors and illustrators?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, worried that he might lose patience.

He scratched his head and thoughtfully pursed his lips.  “Has your friend been collecting a long time?”

“Since he was a kid.  I think he started with Superman.”  It was embarrassing to realize how much of Andrew’s comic chatter went in one ear and out the other.  Some friend I was.

“How about Batman?” Isaiah finally suggested.  “Everyone likes Batman.”

“That’s true.  Even I like Batman.”  Isaiah smiled at me again.  “But Andrew’s collection is pretty big.  He probably has every Batman comic already.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”  When Isaiah reached under the counter, my heart sank.  Any comic important enough to be stashed behind glass was probably beyond my budget.

He slapped an old Detective’s Comic on the counter.  On the cover was a picture of Batman swinging from a rope.

“How much is it?” I asked.  I hated to be crass, but I did need groceries for the week.

“Thirty dollars.”

For a single comic book the size of a
People
magazine?!  One that clearly had a price of ten cents listed on the cover?  I thought he was kidding, but his expression was serious.

Perry, also surprised, glanced up from the box he was unpacking.  “What do you mean
thirty
?  You told me that one is worth fifty…”

“I was wrong.  It’s thirty dollars,” Isaiah said firmly.

Perry shrugged and went back to the box.  “Whatever.”

Even with the generous discount, that comic book would take a chunk out of my grocery budget.  However, when I thought of the pendant that Andrew had given me, I couldn’t refuse.  Coke and Pop Tarts were worth the trade.

I rooted around in my purse for my wallet which, of course, had fallen to the very bottom.  As I pawed through the contents trying to find it, I placed several items on the counter: my keys, a small notebook, a compact, and a roll of LifeSavers.

“I’m expecting you to pull a rabbit out of that thing,” Isaiah said, amused.

“I accept that challenge!”  From the depths of my purse, I pulled out a small, plastic Bugs Bunny figurine, a novelty gift from Andrew.  “Tah dah!”

 Isaiah’s surprised laugh rumbled like thunder.  Perry applauded.

When I found my wallet, I dropped Bugs and everything else back into the black hole of my purse.  “I hope Andrew likes this,” I said.

“Andrew’s your comic geek friend?” Perry asked.

I nodded.  Then, before Isaiah got the wrong idea about me and Andrew, I added, “I like to get Andrew comics because his
boyfriend
thinks they’re a waste of money.”

Perry had finally found the new Hellblazer and eagerly flipped through the pages.  “I’d say Andrew needs a new boyfriend.”

Isaiah handed me the bag with the comic inside.  “If your friend doesn’t like this or already has a copy, you can come back and trade it in.”

Taped to the counter was a sign reading: All Sales Final – No Exchanges.  “What about your store policy?” I asked.

Perry grinned mischievously from behind the comic.  “Yes, Isaiah.  What about
your
store policy?”

Isaiah shrugged and tugged at his earlobe.  “Cassandra is a valued customer.  Besides, she’s Elena’s sister.”

Perry lowered the comic and put a hand to his heart.  “Elena the kitchen goddess from downstairs?  The one who loves torturing us with those delicious smells?”  When Isaiah nodded, Perry said, “Cassandra, tell your sister that we’ll trade comics for chicken Kiev or chocolate mousse.”

My cell phone rang.  Hoping it was Andrew, I picked up.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t Andrew but a very distressed Charles Corning.

“Do you want the stage manager job or not?”  He barked the question like we were back in the thick of
County Dracula
rehearsals.  “If you do, then for God’s sake, get down here!”

“I’m not sure if I
do
want it,” I said.  Since reading the
16 Voices
script, my heart was once again set on being in the spotlight.

“I’m a proud man, Cassie,” Charles said.  “Don’t make me beg.”  He said something else, but there was so much racket in the background that I couldn’t understand him.

“Come again?”

This time, he shouted so loudly I yanked the phone away from my ear.  “I NEED YOU!!”  He hung up.

The job didn’t appeal to me, but I had to visit the Bleak Street anyway to clean up the mess left over from
County Dracula
.  Plus, it was nice to be needed.  With a sigh, I shoved my phone into my pocket.  “Thanks again for helping me pick a comic.”  I gave Isaiah what I hoped was a melt-his-heart smile.

He returned it with one of his own.  “Come back and see us,” he said.  “Anytime.”

“Anytime at all,” Perry agreed.  “I’m sure Isaiah will open the store early or stay late if he knows you’re coming.”

Isaiah glared at Perry who smirked from behind the pages of his comic.

Chapter Eight

The temperature outside had dropped fifteen degrees overnight, and without a working heater in my car, my fingers and toes were numb by the time I reached the Bleak Street.  To my surprise, the place was bustling.  A semi was illegally parked in the street out front, and two panel vans and a pickup truck were crammed into the tiny parking lot behind the building.  Luckily, my car was small enough to squeeze into a narrow space between the truck and the Dumpster.

The backstage area trembled from the sounds of power saws, pneumatic nail guns, and rock music blasting over the theater’s sound system.  Paint cans, buckets of plaster, and toolboxes cluttered the back hallway.  A thick snake of orange electrical cords ran down the center of the hall, and yellow caution tape blocked off the doors to the stage.  Usually, the set strike involved a couple of guys with strong backs tearing apart plywood.  This seemed like the construction of an entire city.

I tossed my coat and purse on the desk in my office.  Actually, ‘office’ was a grand term since the space also doubled as the prop closet/costume room.  Although, right now, it looked like a playroom where a pack of adult-sized children had refused to put away their toys.  Castoff costumes were piled in a corner, and the plastic bins for smaller props had been upended all over the floor.  Because prop master was the least favorite of all my jobs, I had given the cast free access to the room.  Which, I now realized, had been a bad idea.  If Charles saw this, he’d have a fit.

When Charles stormed through the door, however, he didn’t give the mess a second look.  His eyes were bloodshot, and his stubbly chin looked like it hadn’t been shaved since Saturday.  “Cassie!  Thank God you’re here.”  He shoved a sheaf of papers at me.  “This is all of the information about the renovations.  And these…” he dumped a stack of manila folders on my desk, “…are the bios of the actors auditioning for
16 Voices
.  Oh, and run down and get me a latte before I have a nervous breakdown.”

“Renovations?”  I frowned, mystified.  “What renovations?”

My questions went unanswered because he’d already left.  “Charles, wait!”  I chased him down the hall and into the theater.

The condition of the house stopped me in my tracks.  An army of men in coveralls was spreading canvas drop cloths on the slanted floor while others used crowbars on the walnut wainscoting.  The seats had been unbolted and stacked along the walls.  Scaffolding stretched all the way to the ceiling, allowing workers to drape a protective cloth over the theater’s massive chandelier.

A bulldog of a man demanded that I either don a hardhat or leave immediately, so I slapped on the one he handed me.  I strode up to Charles who was shouting at another member of the construction crew.  “You
can’t
tear the stage apart tomorrow!  Where am I supposed to hold auditions?” the director wailed.

“Not my problem.  Now, either put on a hardhat or get out.”  The man walked away, leaving Charles to fume.

“Did you fetch my latte yet?” Charles demanded when he noticed me.

“Not until I get some answers.”

He sighed and motioned for me to follow him.  When we reached his office, he shut the door.  “Do you see this?”  He pointed to his head.  “Since Saturday night, my gray hairs have doubled.”  He rubbed his unshaven cheek.  “The entire renovation is to be completed in time for the opening of
16 Voices.
  Which is now in three weeks instead of six.”

My jaw dropped.

Charles nodded at my stunned expression.  “Yes, it’s madness I know, but Hedda wants Victor out of her hair.  The sooner his play is staged, the sooner he’ll return to New York.”

Having met the pompous blowhard, I understood why Hedda wanted him gone.  But still.  “Why on earth is she renovating
now
?  Why not wait until after he leaves?”

“Victor said that any theater staging his play must meet Stuyvesant standards.”

I tried to estimate how much money Hedda was spending on the project but gave up after the first half a million.  “Why is she so intent on impressing Victor Stuyvesant of the New York Stuyvesants?”  I couldn’t say this without rolling my eyes.

“Don’t mock him, Cassie.  He’s a very powerful person.”  Charles shut his office door.  “Victor could buy and sell both Hedda
and
her ex-husband five times over.  He runs the largest grieve in the eastern United States.  Perhaps in the entire country.”

I frowned.  “Grieve?”

Charles blanched and stuttered before quickly recovering.  “It’s an old-fashioned word for business organization.  Victor made Bertrand Peabody the person he is today, and in turn, Bertrand made Hedda who she is.  Both Hedda and her ex-husband are very indebted to him.  Bertrand and Victor are close allies, but Hedda and Victor frequently butt heads.  Still, now that Victor is here, Hedda insists that we must all do whatever we can to keep him happy.”

As I digested this bad bit of news, Charles rubbed his forehead and grit his teeth.  “Gods, this headache is going to be the end of me.”  He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and withdrew a bottle of aspirin and a fifth of bourbon.  “Join me?”

“It’s only ten in the morning!”

“Yes, but I’ve been here all night.”  When I declined, he shrugged and downed a handful of aspirin with a swig from the bottle.  “I have a feeling that this is going to be a very long three weeks.”  He squinted at the bottle then threw back another swallow.  “I only hope Hedda remembers how hard I’m working for her.”

“You better slow down.  I’m pretty sure being drunk on the job won’t improve her opinion of you.”

To my relief, he screwed the cap back on the bottle.  “What would I do without you and your level head?”  He raised his voice to an onstage level.  “Blest are those whose blood and judgment are so well commingled!”  Then he wilted and sank down into his chair.  “Ah, hell.  What does it matter how hard I work?  Last night, Hedda made it clear who her favorite is.  No doubt, Luquin is reaping his rewards right now.”

I’d witnessed Charles’s mercurial moods swing from exhilaration on opening night to outrage during rehearsals, but I’d never seen him this defeated.  When he unscrewed the cap again and tilted the bottle to his mouth, I stopped him.  “I’ll hire on as stage manager on two conditions.”

His expression brightened.  “Anything!”

“First, you’ve got to stop drinking.”

He gave me a sour look, but stashed the bottle back in the drawer.  “Fine.  What’s the second?”

I took a deep breath.  “I want to audition for a part in
16 Voices
.”

He shook his head.  “I’m sorry, Cassandra, but those auditions are closed.”

The lines I’d read the night before had been playing and replaying in my mind all morning, and I was desperate to get a part.  “Please, Charles.  I’ll beg if I have to.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment.  “Okay, why not?” he finally said.  “But we’ll have to do it here since the stage is wrecked.”

“No problem.”  I grinned when he handed me a script.  “I’ll read for Voice Five.”  It was the one I’d rehearsed the night before.

Charles settled himself behind his desk and nodded for me to continue.

I stood and gave myself a moment to channel the character.  Then, roughing my voice as if about to cry, I began.  “‘A week after two pink lines showed up on the home pregnancy test, I saw my boyfriend making out with my best friend.’ ”

I read a few more lines before Charles stopped me.  “Okay.  Thank you.”

My heart sank at the familiar tone of voice.  Still, I had to ask.  “Is that, ‘Thanks, you’ve got the part’?  Or ‘Thanks, don’t call us, we’ll call you’?”

Charles’s expression didn’t change.

My spirits plunged.  “Right.”  Swallowing back tears, I surrendered the script.  “I guess I’ll go clean up the mess in the prop closet.”  I started towards the door, then stopped.  Without turning around, I asked, “What’s wrong with me, Charles?”

I desperately wanted him to say that I’d be in the spotlight again someday.  That all I had to do was work a little harder.  Instead, he said, “I’m sorry, Cassie.  I truly am.  You really were a wonderful actress.”

Were
a wonderful actress.   My heart, which had been lying on the floor, fell down the stairs and into the basement.