Stage Fright (Bit Parts) (12 page)

Charles said, “If you don’t want the stage manager position, I understand.”

My shoulders slumped.  “No, I’ll take it.  At least I’ll be
in
a theater.”

“Good for you! 
Illegitimi non carborundum
.  Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

Yeah, right.  Easy for him to say.

I retreated like a whipped dog down the hallway and into my office.  I needed to face facts.  At the ripe, old age of twenty-three, my career was over. 
King Lear
had been both my debut and swansong.

Struggling to keep my tears in check, I began placing some costumes on hangers and others in a ‘needs to be laundered’ pile.

“Cassie?”  My least-favorite actor stood in the doorway.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.  “What do you want, Darryl?  And before you ask, I’m not giving you Tabitha’s number; I don’t know any agents who are taking on new clients; and your paycheck has already been mailed out.”  These were answers to the top three questions he always pestered me with.

He blinked.  “I’m looking for Charles.  Do you know where he is?”

I threw a pair of shoes into a bin.  “Around here somewhere.”

“Okay.  Sorry to bother you.”

He sounded so subdued, contrite, and completely un-Darryl-like that I finally gave him my full attention.  To my surprise, his gangsta wannabe look had disintegrated into a bum sleeping in an alley look.  His complexion was sallow, and the skin beneath his eyes looked bruised.  His long hair, usually carefully styled, had grown stringy.

When I saw that he was barefoot, I really started to worry.  “Where are your shoes?”

He glared at me, a little of his Darryl-ness returning.  “You puked on them, remember?”

“Yes, but you do own more than one pair, right?”

He looked down at his grimy feet, surprised.  “I guess I forgot to put them on this morning.”

No one
forgets
to put on shoes.  Especially not with the temperature hovering at twenty-five degrees.  Then I recalled a time, about four months ago, when I’d walked over a mile from my house to the Bleak Street before remembering that the theater was twelve miles away.  I’d even had my car keys in my hand.  I’d simply walked past my vehicle without remembering to get inside.

When I met Darryl’s empty gaze, I finally recognized his ravaged appearance.  Those bewildered eyes, that overly pale complexion…this was what I’d seen in my own bathroom mirror every morning in the weeks following my Cipher audition.

Not taking my eyes off of him, I laid aside the Dracula cape that I’d been folding.  “What happened to you?”

His eyes jerked from mine.  “Nothing happened to me.”

“Are you sure?”  I thought back to the weekend.  He’d been his oily, Darryl self after the curtain fell on Saturday’s
performance, and he’d been an obnoxious ass at the bar.  Then, afterwards…  A sudden flashback swept me to Saturday night.  My breath caught.  “Something happened to you in the alley next to the Lamplighter.”

Fear flickered in Darryl’s eyes.  Then his face shut down like he’d been unplugged.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I’m fine.  I had a little bit of a hangover on Sunday, that’s all.”  His hand crept to his neck, and his fingers explored the underside of his jaw.

It was the same gesture I’d made a thousand times after my audition at the Cipher when I couldn’t keep my fingers off those twin spider bites.  Seeing Darryl do it overwhelmed me with panic.  Stars exploded before my eyes.  “GET OUT!”  I shouted loud enough to drown out the Led Zeppelin blasting on the auditorium’s speakers.  “Leave!  Right now!”  I bullied him into the hallway and slammed the door.

The monster prowling behind the locked door of my mind bellowed.  My panic surged.  I sank to the floor and covered my head with my arms.  When I started to shiver, I grabbed the costume closest to me and pulled it around my shoulders to keep warm.  It was the black suit jacket Andrew had worn onstage, and it smelled of him, a little musky, but familiar.  I buried my face in the sleeve, wishing Andrew was with me right now.  My fingers sought out the necklace he’d given me, and I tried to channel its good energy into my psyche.  Slowly, I relaxed and leaned my head back against the wall.

When Charles barged in, he blinked in surprise.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m tired, that’s all,” I said.  Feeling foolish, I tossed the suit jacket into the ‘needs to be cleaned’ pile.

“Victor’s finally arrived.  He wants to discuss staging, and I’d like you to sit in.”

I dragged myself off the floor and followed Charles into the auditorium where, mercifully, the crew was taking a lunch break and both the pneumatic tools and the music had fallen silent.

“Have you heard from Andrew?” Charles asked.  “I want to give him first pick of the roles.”

My spirits dimmed even more.  I had sent him several more texts and had even called, but I hadn’t heard from him yet.  “No.”

Ignoring the ‘hardhat area’ signs, we picked our way towards the back of the demolished house.  Victor sprawled in one of the few remaining seats still bolted to the floor.  Today, he wore dark glasses, a fedora, and a dancer’s black leotard that clung so tightly to his torso that his ribs stood out like pickets on a fence.  His skin was so pale it nearly glowed.  He wore the lazy, satisfied smile of a spoiled monarch whose every need had been sated.

Darryl stood in attendance.  He must have raided the costume donations box for his bare feet were covered by a pair mismatched loafers.  He hovered at Victor’s elbow, reciting his curriculum vitae.  “Before
County Dracula
, I played waiter number six at the Gem Theatre, and before that, I was a clown in a Hal Leonard Chevy commercial.  Then…”

Victor cut him off with an imperious wave.  “Who gave this spoiled piece of meat permission to audition for my play?”

“Hedda invited him,” Charles said.  He eyed Darryl’s shoes with some misgiving.  “She usually has good instincts.”

“Not this time, she doesn’t.  He’s deplorable.  Get rid of him.”

Darryl’s shoulders slumped, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.  He looked so dejected that I actually felt sorry for him.  “Shouldn’t we at least let him read?  After all, Hedda
did
want him to audition.”

Victor peered over the tops of his glasses.  His pupils were unsettlingly large, swallowing up all the color in his irises.  “Ah, it’s Luquin Astor’s number one fan.  That was quite a performance you gave last night.”

I ducked my head, my cheeks hot.

“Don’t be embarrassed.  That god-awful exhibit was enough to make anyone scream and run.”

Charles frowned at me.  “What were you doing at the Muse yesterday?”

“My sister catered the opening,” I said.  “I was waitressing for her.”

“Too bad you weren’t invited, Charles.”  Victor’s voice dripped with false sympathy.  “Luquin can’t paint worth a damn, but he handled the stress of the induction quite well.  Hedda was very proud of him.”  His smile widened.  “I’d say she picked the right man for the honor.”

Charles flushed and his lips thinned.

Victor sat up a little straighter.  “Now, about
16 Voices
.  I want each of the actors wearing wire harnesses so that they can fly about the stage.”

Andrew would love the wire fu – he had made me watch
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
with him at least a dozen times – but I envisioned a nightmare of tangled wires and injured actors.

I expected Charles to explode, or at least comment, on the impossible staging, but he didn’t.  Though his smile tightened into a grimace, he nodded his assent.  “Make a note of that, Cassie.”

I shook my head.  “You know that we can’t have
sixteen
actors on harnesses at the same time!  That’s an air traffic accident waiting to happen!”

The director spoke through gritted teeth.  “Just make a note.”

Victor smiled.  “Very good.  Now then, the pen for the menagerie will be built stage left.”

I looked up from my notepad, stunned.  “Menagerie?  Like in live animals?”

“Of course.  And at center stage, I want someone to construct a giant mouth that the actors can fly in and out of.”

No way could this guy be for real.  Not even the
County Dracula
director had been so outrageous.  I glanced at Darryl who looked equally perplexed.

When Victor began talking about how every one of the sixteen actors would have twenty, completely different, costume changes, I couldn’t keep quiet.  “Is this a joke?”

“Cassandra!”  Charles made a desperate, slicing motion with his hand.  “If Victor wants costume changes, that’s what we’ll have.”

I clamped my mouth shut and continued to make notes.  Victor’s lack of aesthetic was making my head ache.  I swore he was making up things as he went along.

Finally, even Charles had enough.  Keeping the overly tight smile screwed to his face, he began patting his pockets, looking for his cigarettes.  “Cassie, would you take over for a bit?  If you want me, I’ll be outside having a smoke.”  He nearly ran from the auditorium, letting the doors bang shut behind him.  I was pretty sure he was headed to the parking lot to indulge in some primal-scream therapy.  God knew I wanted to do the very same thing.

Instead of becoming angry that his director had left, Victor smiled.  “I suppose that means you’re in charge now,” he said to me.

“I guess.”  Wasn’t today my lucky day?  “Can we go back to the staging for a minute?  I have a couple of questions.  When we did
County Dracula
…”

“You worked on that play?” Victor asked.

“I was the stage manager.”

“And I was Renfield,” Darryl piped up.  “Helga loved my performance.”

“That’s
Hedda
,” Victor corrected sharply, making Darryl cringe.  The playwright looked back at me.  “As the stage manager, what was your main job?”

My main job was to do whatever the hell Charles asked me to.  “Let’s see, I handled everything from cues and props to costumes and ticket sales.”  I’d even unplugged the toilet in the women’s restroom at least a dozen times.

“Ticket sales.”  Victor pounced on those words.  “How many tickets were sold for each performance?”

Of course, I knew the answer.  The muse held three-hundred seats, but an audience of over a hundred was considered a good night.  Still, I hesitated to divulge the information.  Victor’s question was too much like the ones he’d asked Geoffrey the night before.  I had a strong feeling that Victor Stuyvesant wasn’t in Detroit to stage a play, but to dig up dirt on Hedda’s finances, and I felt I owed her
some
loyalty.  After all, if I hadn’t gotten a job in her theater, I might still be cowering under my covers.  “I’d don’t remember the exact numbers,” I hedged.  “I’d have to look it up.”

Unfortunately, Darryl was more than happy to oblige the information.  “We never filled the place.  Attendance always topped out at a hundred.”

Victor took of his sunglasses and sat up straight.  “A hundred?  How much would that be in sales?”

Darryl answered as promptly as the most hated teacher’s pet.  “Maybe a thousand per night.”

Oh, the scabrous little weasel!  I clenched my hands into fists, wishing they were wrapped around Darryl’s pencil neck.  “How would you know?”

“Because I faced those empty seats every night when I was on stage,” he shot back.  “I didn’t cower backstage like you.”

“Cassandra, your answers will be kept in the strictest confidence,” Victor said.  “Why don’t you tell me everything you know?”  His voice was surprisingly gentle.  Even so, I wasn’t going to talk about it.  Not with him.  Then my eyes met his.  I saw myself reflected back at me from the depths of those strangely enlarged pupils.  Every emotion – my terror, my distorted sense of reality, my confusion – played back in a gut-wrenching loop.  The world swayed under my feet, and I grabbed for something to keep me upright.

When I started to drop, Victor caught me and lowered me into a seat.  Carefully, he bent me over and put my head between my knees, placing one hand on my back so that I wouldn’t fall to the side.

“Easy,” he said.  “Take deep breaths.”

“Cassie’s got this anxiety disorder.  It’s what chased her off the stage,” Darryl said from behind me.  “Course, I wouldn’t let a little thing like a bad audition ruin
my
acting career.  I’d do anything to get onstage.”

There was a pregnant pause.  “Anything?” Victor asked.

“Anything at all!”

Victor let go of my back.  “Cassandra, there’s something I need to discuss with Darryl.  Are you going to be all right?”

My stomach was lurching, but the all-over body sweat had stopped, and my heartbeat was in the normal zone.  “Yes.”

With a final pat on my back, Victor left with the still-nattering Darryl in tow.

I kept my head down, and slowly opened my eyes.  Something winked at me from under my seat: a teardrop crystal.  It must have fallen from the chandelier when the workers were wrapping it.  Amazingly, the prism was intact despite its three-story plunge.  I plucked it from its hiding place and slipped it into my pocket.

I stood carefully, trying shrug off the weird sensation I’d gotten from looking into Victor’s eyes.  I wasn’t sure what had happened between the two of us, but I never wanted to repeat it.  In fact, as much as I hated to back down on an obligation, I couldn’t endure the thought of spending the next three weeks dealing with Victor’s outrageous whims.  The stage manager job could go to someone else.  I was finished.

Although I was eager to leave the theater, it didn’t seem fair to go without giving word to Charles.  I knocked hesitantly on his office door.  “Charles?  Are you there?”

At his word, I entered.  Charles sat at his desk.  To my consternation, a nearly empty bottle of bourbon stood at his elbow.  Standing in the corner was another man whom I vaguely recognized.  He had the white, bushy beard and pot belly of Santa Claus, but the round, rose-tinted glasses, leather headband, and Dead Head t-shirt of an aging hippie.

Neither man spoke, but the air hummed with tension.  “Sorry to interrupt you,” I said.