by Gigi Blume
“A typo?”
“Yes. It’s no big deal.”
Fitz stared at me without blinking, his frigid, blue eyes piercing deep into my soul. He closed the gap between us in three easy strides.
“Let me see.”
I pointed to the error in the music and placed the sheets into his outstretched hand. He examined it with a squint, took the sheets to his music stand and compared them to his own, grunted, and brought them back to me. I was eighty-five percent sure I’d made a mistake and expected him to make an example of me by citing my ignorance of Victorian English. But he nodded and said, “Good catch. Everyone, mark your music. Measure seventy-eight, change infinity to divinity.” He stepped neatly behind his music stand as the cast whipped out pencils, all of them frantically making the change in the text. Then Fitz did something glorious. He winked at me. Not in a ‘hey girl’ way, but in a ‘way to go’ sort of approving way. Then he said, half to himself, “Beth seems to be the only one paying attention.”
High fives!
Also, I couldn't help but notice Caroline didn’t bother with a pencil and instead, opted to sip her alkaline water with an obvious scowl in my direction. So win, win.
For the next hour, I resolved to keep my head down and direct all my attention to my sheet music, like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Sixteenth notes. Fascinating. I was totally not thinking about Will Darcy or the way his beautiful eyes tore right through me, shredding all my pretend poise. It was almost as though he didn’t exist.
My perfect indifference was put to the test when I was packing up my bag after a long day of rehearsal. How was I supposed to know he was on the other side of the costume rack? Unfortunately, I overheard the tail end of his conversation with Bing.
“You should come out with us, Will. Just a couple of drinks.”
“A couple of drinks and then what?” There was a categorical frown in Darcy’s voice. “You’re not being smart about this.”
Wow. He was even rude to his friend. Poor, misguided Bing.
“A lot of the cast is going,” Bing pleaded. “Don’t be such a snob.”
“I told you I would help springboard your career. You need to focus.”
“Yeah, I know.” Bing paused like a child under the scrutiny of a schoolmaster. “Listen. Jane asked if I was going. I just want to get to know her better, you know, so our stage kiss won’t be so awkward.”
“Do you plan on going out with every actress you have to kiss on stage or screen?”
“No, but—have you seen her?”
“She smiles too much.”
“She’s a goddess. And her voice!”
“She’s the only girl with a trace of talent in this whole cast.”
“That’s not true. What about her friend? Beth, the girl that plays Edith. She seems good.”
Darcy snorted. “Her? Acutely... mediocre.”
A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Mediocre? Those were my exact thoughts about Caroline. That would have been a bad enough insult to my ego, but he went on. “She contributes absolutely nothing to this show. I wouldn’t waste my time following her career into obscurity.”
The knot in my abdomen grew into a great, big ball of loathe pie. Have you ever had loathe pie? It’s sweet on the tongue with a bitter aftertaste and sits at the bottom of your stomach like a rock. I wanted to throw that rock right at Darcy’s smug, Hollywood face. Then I wanted to strangle his elegant neck. Then I’d gouge out his striking blue eyes and reach down into his soulless innards and make him eat it. That’s loathe pie.
But I was a grown woman, and I decided Will Darcy didn’t even deserve a slice of my loathe pie. Or any pie. He wasn’t worth a crumb. And I was determined in that moment to let him know it.
I reached into my bag and retrieved my cell phone. A few swipes of my settings, and my ringtone sounded. Through the gaps in the hanging costumes, I could see both men turn their heads, surprised to see me—a hint of guilt played on their features.
I pretended to take a call. “Hello? Oh, hi. No, no, I’m not busy. I’m just leaving rehearsal.” I covered the mouthpiece with the palm of my hand and whispered to Will who was turning a shade of white. “Sorry, it’s my agent.” The shock on his face was pure gold. So I milked it. “Yeah, I’m still looking at those scripts. Well, they’ll just have to fight over me then.” I feigned a show biz laugh. “You know it’s not about the money. It’s the art I care about. I’ll let you know in a couple of days. Sure. Love you too, darling. Ciao.”
I pretended to end the call and returned the phone to my bag as I strutted around the clothing rack and right next to that deplorable man. I looked straight at his pretty face and said pointedly, “Yo, Hotshot Frot. You dropped something. Oh, it’s just your tact. Never mind.” Then I flounced right out of the theatre, through the parking lot, and into my beat-up vintage Volvo. I’d never felt better or worse at the same time. It was some pretty awesome pie.
3
Fine Eyes
Will
She was walking away. I had the urge to run after her. Explain myself. But why? Perhaps to save face. I told myself I didn’t owe her my apology. She wasn’t the press, or anybody really. But watching her tiny little form retreat from me, her resolute chin pointed in the air, while her pigtails bounced behind her head, reminded me a little of my sister. Small but mighty. I shook my head to clear it. She certainly wasn’t anything like my sister. Too much spunk.
And those curves…
“Fastidious.” Bing peered at his phone. It was that lame word of the day app he liked to use. I brought myself back to the present to respond to him.
“Fast hideous?”
“No. It means nit-picky. Hard to please. Hmmm. Sounds like someone I know.”
I grunted. Those weren’t bad qualities.
“Come to the bar.” He waged his brows. “Beth works there.”
If he was trying to tempt me into going to some grease trap hole in the wall so he could score with a pretty blonde, he had to do better than that. Even if that pretty blonde had a hot little pixie for a friend. I didn’t need the distraction. But Bing was new in town and probably wanted to see more of L.A. than the inside of that little room he sub-rented.
“I know a great place on Sunset,” I replied. “I don’t want to name drop or anything, but last time I was there, I ran into Leo DiCaprio.”
I hoped a night out in a legendary Hollywood hangout would give him some perspective. Keep his eye on the prize. But he shook his head and responded with a dopey grin. “The whole cast is expecting us.” Right. The whole cast. What he meant was leggy blonde.
And if I were being honest, I had my thoughts on seeing a particular person myself. Only because I was curious. By the sound of Beth’s phone call, it would seem she had tons of offers on her agent’s desk. Then why would she moonlight at a dive bar? It didn't add up. She didn’t add up. And the touch of her. When she ran into me and thought she’d bloodied her nose. How her cheeks flared into a healthy pink when our eyes met. How she sparked something on my skin with only the briefest contact. Nothing made sense.
So I went with Bing to the bar—not making him any promises how long I’d stay.
I have traveled the expanse of this great earth. I have been in places as diverse as India, Guatemala, Brazil, Germany, China, and South Africa, just to name a few. In my travels, I’ve encountered cities and slums in varying degrees of society, customs, and enlightenment. I’m no stranger to the diversity found in the most distant corners of the world. But never had I ever beheld the singular, outlandish abomination that was Lucas Lodge. Where would one even begin to describe this place? The entryway was akin to an old-timey Las Vegas casino. I think I’d seen the same carpeting at Circus Circus. As I made my way through the front lounge, the floor yielded to checkered tile that I imagined Alice encountered in her adventures in Wonderland, except in place of the White Rabbit, a silver-haired, ostentatious man greeted us in a garish, peacocky sort of fashion and loudly in
troduced himself as Sir William Lucas. He tripped all over himself in effusions of outrageous salutations and, beseeching me for an autographed photo to hang on his wall, he directed Bing and me to our seats at a booth covered in leopard-print fur. I most likely would have paid little attention to his ramblings anyhow, but I found myself more disinterested than usual as I scanned the restaurant for a sight of Beth. I told myself I was just curious and nothing more, imputing my desire to see her to the virtues of pride. Yes, pride, and justifiably so. I wasn’t to be castigated by a waitress.
‘You dropped something’ she’d said. ‘Oh, it’s just your tact’.
I couldn’t see a trace of her without craning my neck, drawing attention to myself. Perhaps she had the night off. That would be the best scenario. I was beginning to relax when we were greeted tableside by the small voice of our waitress. Beth. How could it be we were seated in her section? Fate was an ugly visitor sometimes. By the looks of it, she wasn’t any more thrilled by the situation than I was. We’d be forced to… exchange pleasantries!
She shifted her weight to one foot, making her hip jut out to one side as her eyes locked onto mine, narrowing into slits.
“Really?”
My thoughts exactly.
“Okay, whatever.” She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “I bid thee welcome, good sirs. Dost thou care for an ale or perhaps a robust mead?”
She was using an over-the-top English accent and if I wasn’t completely mortified by the whole business of being found in her section, I’d have been immensely amused.
I contemplated an escape as she rambled through the specials. Honestly, I didn’t hear a word she said. I was too busy planning my own death hoax, wondering how to stage an alien invasion, or plotting a distraction by way of fire—anything to get away from her. I half consciously heard Bing order a drink then excuse himself to the men’s room, but I was overwhelmed by my inability to concentrate. Beth wore this atrocious wench costume, and I couldn’t help but ogle at the way the bodice accentuated her curves. It was like her figure was teasing me, dancing in my line of vision, just waiting to be—
“Have you decided, My Lord?” her little voice squeaked, erecting a blockade upon my thoughts.
“What?”
“I have to address the guests of Sir William Lucas with a title. May I call you ‘My Lord,’ or do you prefer another royal title?”
“Oh,” I croaked. What kind of crackpot place was this? She waited for my reply, but she kept looking over her shoulder impatiently. Why couldn’t I just order a beer or something and get this over with?
“Um,” I said, taken by surprise. “I am the Pirate King, so you can call me… Your Majesty?”
Where the blazes did that come from?
She placed a hand on her tiny little waist and scowled at me. “Very well, Your Majesty, shall we pour the pirate sherry or would a Bud Lite be your pleasure?”
My pleasure? The way she looked in that costume—I drew a blank.
“Dilly dilly.”
That, my friends, was the ridiculous reply my blood-deprived brain offered. What was wrong with me?
“Bud Lite it is,” she said rather salty and turned on her heel in the fastest exodus imaginable. She walked away from me again, and I wasn’t in any more control than I had been earlier in the day. She infuriated me to no end.
The form of another female slipped her way into my vicinity. This one wasn’t any more pleasant than Beth, but at least she didn’t get under my skin. Caroline sat herself down next to me and scooted her hips flush against mine on the furry bench seat. She certainly wasn’t very shy. I’d had my share of bold women, but I wasn’t in the mood at present.
“I bet I can guess what you’re thinking,” she said huskily.
“I doubt it,” I replied laconically.
She held a fruity-looking cocktail and set it down on the table to free her hands to turn my chin towards her face. Whoa! She wore a lot of makeup. She smiled coquettishly and ran her tongue along her top teeth. Checking for rogue lipstick perhaps?
“I’m really good at this game,” she purred. “Stare into my eyes.”
I really wasn’t in the mood for this, and I let my expression show it. Maybe she’d get the hint and leave me be. And why hadn’t Bing returned?
“You’re thinking about how disastrous rehearsal was today,” she said.
“Not really.”
“Well, it’s not a very happy thought by the look on your face.”
“You think?” My reply was laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
She adjusted, positioning herself up on her knees so her head was at my level and stared intently over my features.
“Hmm. I know. You’re thinking about how stupid this party is.”
“I’d hardly call this a party.”
She inched a little closer. “It can be if you want it to.”
I did my best in the distracted state of mind I was in to expose her lack of logic. “As you said, if this were a party, I’d think it’s stupid.”
She opened her mouth to reply but must have thought better of it and clamped it shut.
“In any case,” I continued, “that’s not what I was thinking.”
In an overt, suggestive manner, she wrapped her lips around her straw and took a long sip of her cocktail, never taking her eyes off me. It was a little more than disconcerting how tawdry she was. Frankly, I was rather embarrassed for her.
“So?” she said, batting her lashes. “Are you going to tell me?”
Tell her what I was thinking? Oh, darlin’ there were sooo many things I was thinking. Where to begin? But before I could respond, the one image that rushed to the forefront of my mind and assaulted my senses manifested before me, bearing my Bud Lite on a tray. Beth took one look at Caroline, set the beer on the table, and whisked herself away again. Caroline took the opportunity in that moment to throw her arms around my neck.
“Well, what are you thinking?”
Caroline was a good-looking woman, and she knew it, but she was laying it on a little too thick. And without glancing away from Beth, watching her tend to her other tables, I grumbled under my breath, “Hotshot Frot?”
She snorted and gave me a little chastising smack on the back of my hand. “Oh, you are a naughty one, aren’t you?”
But I ignored her, half-laughing, half-cursing under my breath.
“What does that even mean? Hotshot Frot?”
A splattering of crimson overspread her cheeks, and I realized with some regret she must have taken it as a compliment to herself. But she was playing a game as women like her often do, and in a coy, kittenish purr, she said, “Who you calling hot?”
I suddenly felt claustrophobic, caged in by a pair of long, ivory arms. A dancer’s arms. She was probably exceedingly flexible, I mused. But why didn’t she do anything for me? Was I losing my libido? I fixed my gaze on Beth. No. Definitely not losing my libido.
Untangling myself from Caroline’s tentacles, I slid the best I could along the furry surface of the booth, all the way around to the other side, still laser focused on Beth. Caroline’s scrutiny followed the direction of my gaze to where Beth stood across the room, and her jaw fell open.
“Her?” she cried incredulously
“I gotta go.”
I extracted the first bill I found in my wallet and tucked it under the beer bottle, unabashedly leaving Caroline behind without another word. I didn’t even care where Bing was at that point. There must have been something in the air at Lucas Lodge that made my head feel so foggy. It wasn’t until I escaped into the cool, November night that my mind cleared.
“Hmmph,” I growled as I climbed into my Ferrari. Regional theatre! What had I gotten myself into?
4
Spiders, Sharks, and Barnacles, Oh My!
Beth
“That Quasimodo left me a hundred-dollar bill.”
I was livid. Not only did Mr. Hollywood purposefully sit in my section to taunt me with his arrogant ‘dilly d
illy’ and ‘call me your majesty,’ but he found pleasure in degrading me by flaunting his wealth in my face. Yeah, I was a waitress like every cliché actress, but unlike him, I didn’t have a rich daddy with connections to pave my way through tinseltown. It was the end of the night, and I had to vent about it to Charlotte, and although I hadn’t ‘musical cussed’ all day, I decided it was a Hunchback of Notre Dame kind of night.
Charlotte was genuinely confused and blinked her eyes at me for a few moments before asking, “Is that… a bad thing?”
“Of course it’s a bad thing!” I cried indignantly. “He’s trying to put me down by throwing his money around, implying I’ll never make it as an actress, thinking that he’s better than me.”
“Or… and I’m just spitballing here... maybe he just was happy with your service,” she said with a shrug.
“He ordered a beer and didn’t even drink it. What a gargoyle.” I then told her about the conversation I heard between Will and Bing by the costume rack, how he descriptively dismissed my talent, how he sat in my section to act like an entitled Phoebus, and how he was practically copulating with Caroline in the booth. And then he left. He just left, abandoning his friend. “Bing looked all over the bar for him,” I added. “Jane had to give him a ride home.”
Jane actually had no problem with that.
“Well,” Charlotte said after some thought, “would you rather he’d not left you a tip at all?”
“That’s not the point. It’s the principle of the whole thing.”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Okay.”
She resumed her side-work of marrying ketchup bottles and was silent for some time, and I was disappointed to learn she’d considered the subject dropped. But then, after several minutes, she said, “You must have made quite an impression on him to single you out like that. He would never have so much as spoken to you if he didn’t notice.” She stopped her actions to punctuate her thoughts. “No, there’s more to this than what’s at the surface.”
