Stage Fright (Bit Parts) (9 page)

“That was Luquin Astor’s induction ceremony.”

“What kind of ceremony is it?”

“The kind it’s better not to talk about.”

My anger flashed again.  “Do you
ever
give a straight answer?”  When he didn’t reply, I said, “Someone I know just walked in there.  I should go back and get her.”

Isaiah shook his head.  “If she’s in there, then she knows exactly what’s expected of her.  Hedda wouldn’t allow anyone to come in unless they were fully informed.”

“Are you sure?  Because I swear I heard someone in trouble.”  I took my cell phone from my pocket.  “Maybe I should call 9-1-1.”

Isaiah pushed the emergency stop button, and the elevator jerked to a halt.  “I promise you, everything’s fine.”

“But…”

“Do you know the expression, curiosity killed the cat?  Well, in this case, curiosity made the cat realize it was living in a nightmare world.  Understand?”

For some reason, I pictured Geoffrey’s pale face and the way he’d sweated half-moons under his arms.  Whatever secret he knew had certainly terrified him.  “I guess.”

“Cassandra, I know it’s hard, but I need you to trust me.”

I certainly
wanted
to trust him.  Those steady eyes and that deep, gentle voice inspired confidence.  His size alone made me feel safe.  But my mouth remained cotton dry while my forehead glistened with sweat.  The stopped elevator didn’t help.  Even on a good day, I hated being inside those things.  So, as much to get out of the closed, metal box as anything else, I nodded.  “Okay, I trust you.”

He nodded, a look of relief on his face, and restarted the elevator.  He escorted me all the way back to the van where Elena sat waiting on the back bumper.  Not wanting to get into details, I lied and said the Muse was already locked up.  “Looks like we’ll have to get the tablecloths tomorrow.”

“Cassie!  Now, I’m going to have to pay an extra day’s rental!”

“Add it to Geoffrey’s bill,” Isaiah suggested.

To my relief, she looked happier about that.  “Did you get any of the chicken?” she asked him.

He shook his head.  “No, but it certainly smelled good when you were cooking this morning.”

I frowned.  “How would you know?”

Elena made a theatrical sweep with her hands.  “Cassandra Jaber, meet Isaiah Griffin.   Isaiah is my new upstairs neighbor.  One half of Holy Comics.”

I bit my cheeks to keep from grinning like an idiot.  I no longer had to think of a clever excuse to get his phone number.  I could stop by and see him any time I wanted!  I’d corner him and make him tell me everything he knew about the Cipher.  No, better yet, we could talk about theater.  Or go for coffee!  I pressed my lips together to stifle a giddy laugh.

Isaiah waved goodbye and headed back towards the building.  As I got into the van, I kept my eyes fixed on his back, unable to let him go.

Elena shook her head at my infatuation.  “I’m telling you, Cassie.  That man is heartache.”

“But the package is so, so beautiful,” I said.

Her concern worried me, but only a little.  I decided to change the sign around Isaiah’s neck from Look, But Don’t Touch to Proceed with Caution.

Chapter Six

I kept my date with Andrew only because I couldn’t bear being alone.  Not after all the weirdness surrounding the Muse.  Although Andrew’s homemade eggrolls tasted like heaven wrapped in a perfectly crisp wonton, I only ate a few bites.  The nightmare images of Luquin’s ghastly artwork and the bizarre moaning from the darkened gallery had spoiled my appetite.

I drew a pattern in the puddle of sweet and sour sauce on my plate.  “There was some seriously freaky shit going on at the Muse tonight.  That after party didn’t sound like much of a party.”

“Uh huh.”

And then there was Isaiah.  As much as I was drawn to him, I had to face facts.  The man had a dark side.  Whatever connected him to Hedda was probably best left alone.  “Mr. Gorgeous Dreadlocks was there, too.  Elena said he was heartache in a beautiful package.”

No reply.

“Hello?  Earth to Andrew?”

He looked up.  “Yeah, totally agree.”

I pouted.  “You didn’t hear a thing I said.”

“Sure.  The art freaked you out, the
16 Voices
playwright is a jerk, and the guy we met on Saturday night is super hot.”  He shoved his plate away.  He’d eaten even less than I had.

For the first time since coming through the door, I noticed the strain in Andrew’s face.  Suddenly, I felt guilty for dominating the conversation.  “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right.”

He gave a false, sunny smile to hide whatever was going on inside his head.  “I’m fine!”

Sometimes Andrew was such a good actor that even
I
couldn’t tell what he was thinking.  As we cleared the table, I said, “You promise you’re okay?”

“Cassie, chill out.  I’m fine.”  He dumped the dishes into the sink.  “The Muse is fine.  Everything is fine.”

“Yes, but… ”

“Honey, let me give you some advice, okay?”  It was difficult to take him seriously since he was wearing his Mr. Good Lookin’ is Cookin’ apron, but his deeply concerned expression was hard to ignore.  “Stop looking for nightmares around every corner.” 

 “I don’t see nightmares everywhere!”

“Let’s see.  Last week, you were convinced that the rash on my arm was toxic epi- something …”

“Toxic epidermal necrolysis,” I said, remembering.  I’d found the dangerous disease while surfing Web MD.

“And what was it really?”

“An allergy to a new laundry detergent,” I grudgingly admitted.

“That’s right.  And a week before that, you heard a sound in your garden shed that you swore was a rabid coyote.”  He lifted his eyebrows.  “And was it
really
a rabid coyote?”

My cheeks were heating up.  “No.”  I’d had poor Andrew scared half to death that night.  I’d made him wait on the phone while I armed myself with a tire iron and faced the ‘rabid coyote’ which turned out to be a fairly friendly stray cat.

“My point is that you sometimes get a little overwrought.”

“Overwrought?”

“Just a
tiny
bit.”  He held his thumb and index finger a little ways apart.

Maybe he was right.  I sighed.  No, he
was
right.  Nowadays, it was hard for me to tell a nightmare from normality.  Maybe that freakiness at the Muse was just my brain indulging in another fear-finding mission.

“Remember that little conversation we had about therapy a few weeks ago?”  His question was too casual to be anything but planned.

“I remember.  And, no, I’m not going to see a therapist.”  Not that I hadn’t considered it.  But not only was money a problem since I was uninsured, there was also the issue of medication.  As in, I didn’t want to take it.  I sensed that any drugs I took would further bar the door in my mind, not open it.  And I wanted that damn door opened.

“At least consider it.”  His brown eyes filled with worry.  “Your BSOD expression breaks my heart.”

“BSOD?”

“Blue Screen of Death.  You know, like when a computer unexpectedly fries its circuits.  That’s you.  You walk around with this glazed look in your eyes.  Sometimes, I worry that there’s no
you
inside you anymore.”

His concern touched me, and I hugged him.  “I’m fine.  Really.  I don’t need a therapist.”

Andrew continued to look worried, but he knew better than to argue.  Just like I knew better than to argue over Caleb.  Andrew had his issues, and I had mine.

Andrew wrapped up the remaining eggrolls and put them into the freezer.

“Dinner was terrific,” I said.  “You’re an even better cook than my sister.  Although, if you tell her I said that, I’ll deny it.”

“Being in the kitchen makes me happy,” he said, frowning.

“Funny.  Because you don’t
look
happy.”

The tightness in his features returned.  “I won’t be cooking for a while because Caleb wants me to start one of those raw diets tomorrow.  He also wants me to work harder on defining my six pack.”

“Are you kidding me?  I could bounce a quarter off your stomach!”

Andrew shrugged.  “We went to this herbal shop today to get these diet supplements that boost metabolism or whatever.  Caleb said it will help.”

“Maybe a swift kick to Caleb’s behind would help.”

Andrew glared at me as he washed a plate.  “He only wants what’s best for me!  Besides, what other guy would work forty-plus hours a week to support his partner’s acting career?”

As I dried the dishes, I glanced around the modern kitchen, wondering what it would be like to be a kept woman.  On the one hand, having a refrigerator stocked with food, a full gas tank, and a clothing allowance would be wonderful.  On the other hand, Andrew was a stranger in his own home.  The condo he shared with Caleb had been furnished with Caleb’s tastes in mind: modern, with plenty of black leather, chrome, and glass.  The only bit of Andrew in the entire place was his toothbrush in the bathroom.  Plus, there was the whole, “I own you, so do as I say,” problem.  No, I’d rather be poor than imprisoned.

When the last dish had been dried and put away, Andrew disappeared for a moment.  When he returned, he was carrying a small, cloth bag.  “This is for you.”

Thrilled to be getting a gift, I opened the bag and found a silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a Coptic cross.  In the center of the cross was an amethyst.  “It’s beautiful!”

He smiled.  “I saw it today at the herbal shop and thought of you.  They sold all kinds of new age things there, and this necklace is suppose to ward off dark energy.”  He scratched his ear and looked embarrassed.  “I don’t know if you go in for that freaky deaky new-age stuff, but I thought it might make you feel safer.”

I hugged him.

He put his arms around me and rested his cheek against my head.  “I know I got weird this morning when you told me you loved me, but it’s only because I’m not used to hearing that said out loud.  My family was really cold about emotional stuff.”

I hugged him more tightly.

“I love you, too, you know,” he said, speaking softly.  “Really.  I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing tears would make him uncomfortable.

He finally let me go.  “I really hate seeing you afraid all the time.  I realize this necklace is silly, but… ”

“It’s
not
silly.  I absolutely love it.”  I kissed him on the cheek.  “Thank you.”

I worried that wearing the necklace might set off my weird neck phobia, but the chain was thin enough to be undetectable, and the pendant fell below the hollow in my throat.  “I’m never taking this off,” I said.

“Then don’t blame me if your neck turns green,” he teased.

I rubbed my hands together.  “Ready to run lines?”  Even though I suspected Victor’s play would be terrible, I was always eager to dive into a new script.

Andrew shrugged.  “I’m pretty tired.  Let’s do it tomorrow.”

“But auditions are this week!  Where’s the script?”

He led me into the living room where the book lay on the coffee table.  “Knock yourself out.”  He plunked down on the couch.

I eagerly paged through it.  I hadn’t attempted to act since my fateful Cipher audition.  “Which part do you want?”

He closed his eyes and sighed.  Doesn’t matter.  Just read something.”

The play didn’t contain dialogue between actors.  Instead, it had been written as a sequence of narrations with each voice telling its own story.  I chose one at random and began reading.  “‘A week after two pink lines showed up on the home pregnancy test, I saw my boyfriend making out with my best friend.’ ” I stopped reading and looked up.  “It’s a girl’s part.”

Andrew put his arm over his eyes.  “I don’t care.  Keep going.”

I did.  The story was much better than I’d expected, and soon I fell into the role.  I used my free hand to gesture, as if I was planning to audition myself.  When I got to the part when the young girl was contemplating driving across three states to get an abortion, I glanced at Andrew to gauge his reaction.

He was sound asleep.

“Andrew!”  I swatted his legs with the script, and he came awake with a startled snort.  “You’re sleeping!”

He rubbed his eyes.  “No, I wasn’t.”  When I continued to glare at him, he ducked his head.  “Okay, I might have dozed off.  Sorry.”

“How could you fall asleep? This play is amazing!”  Then a terrible thought hit me.  “Are you saying that
I
put you to sleep?”  Since it was my first read through, I wasn’t nailing the part.  Still, my performance hadn’t been terrible.  Had it?

Andrew avoided my eyes.  “It’s not you.  I’m just really tired, that’s all.”

I knew he was lying.  “You thought I sucked!”

“It was a little monotone,” he confessed.  “Try using more inflection.”

If anyone but Andrew had given me Acting 101 lessons, I would have stormed out of the room.  But for his sake, I swallowed my pride and re-read the last few lines, putting as much emphasis on the words as I could.  “Better?”

“Well… ”

“Tell me the truth,” I said.

“A little better, I guess.  But still kind of wooden.”

My jaw dropped.  Never in all my days as an actress had I been called ‘wooden’!  Tabby was wooden. 
Darryl
was wooden.  But not me!

“You’re out of practice, that’s all,” Andrew said.  “Run through a few more pages, and you’ll catch your stride.”

After two more pages, he stopped me.  “Let’s call it a night, okay?”

I pressed my lips together, determined not to cry.  “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly.  “In fact, take the script with you and practice at home.”

I tossed the script on the couch.  “Why bother?  I wasn’t invited to audition, remember?  You’re the one they want, Mr. Everyone Loves Me.

“Don’t be that way,” he said.

“What way?”

“Jealous and bitchy.”

I rubbed my eyes.  He was right; I was acting like a spoiled, little kid.  I’d watched jealousy eat like acid through a lot of friendships between actors; I refused to let it happen to Andrew and me.  I sighed and struggled to put a smile back on my face.  “You’re right.  We should call it a night.”  This time, when he offered me the script, I accepted it even though I didn’t think I’d bother to read it.