by Gigi Blume
“Yeah. So?” Caroline looked around at all the incriminating faces burning holes into her skull.
“It wasn’t a big spider,” said Bing in a stoic fashion. “He can get back in through the crack.”
“She,” corrected Jane.
“What?” he asked, turning his gaze to her.
“She,” Jane repeated. “It was probably a female spider.”
“Well, he or she is dead,” said Caroline, “So you’re welcome.”
“Then why shut the Thenardier door?” cried Beth.
“Thenardier?” said Bing.
“From Les Mis,” touted Jane matter-of-factly.
“There might be more spiders,” exclaimed Caroline.
“Can we drop the issue with the spider?” I bellowed. Why was I the only sane person in the room? “We’re trapped in here now.”
Caroline laughed, evidently not believing me and jiggled the doorknob. Then she jiggled it again. It wouldn’t budge.
“There must be some other way out of here,” she said. “Or another way to open the door.”
I pressed my lips in a thin line, keeping any profanity at bay and slowly shook my head. For good measure, I crossed my arms over my chest, so they wouldn’t decide to commit homicide on their own accord. Caroline tried the knob again. Yep. Still locked.
“We’ll just wait until someone comes down to let us out,” she said.
“It’s the weekend, Caroline,” I growled. “No one will be back until Monday.”
“Does anyone have Ari’s phone number? Or anyone with a key?” asked Beth optimistically.
I immediately took the phone out of my back pocket. “I have Stella’s number.”
I quickly found her contact image and tapped the screen. A red ‘X’ appeared where the signal icon should have been. No service. I moved around the room, trying to get reception from different areas. I tried standing on the sofa, pointing the phone towards the ceiling, walking around that confined space like a Ghostbuster trying to detect psycho-kinetic energy, but nothing I tried was successful. We were too far below ground. In a fruitless endeavor, Bing did the same with his phone. We looked like a couple of interpretive dancers offering our smartphones to the ceiling gods. This lasted a good five minutes before frustration got the better of me, and I lashed out on the one person I believed was responsible: Bing.
It was he who stole away with Jane to hide from the rest of us for a kiss fest, he who I went in search of followed by the door-slamming, spider-kicking Caroline. I surmised Beth was down there because she had likewise searched for Jane and found the lovers climbing on each other right before I arrived, hence the scream I’d heard earlier. All this could have been avoided if Bing had taken my advice. Therefore, in a not-so-articulate display of anger, I barked. All at once, everyone in the room pointed fingers at one another, placing the blame on Caroline for having shut the door, on Beth for creeping up on them and screaming, on Jane for being so beautiful, and on myself, according to Beth, for something akin to sharks. It was a very messy and poor rendition of It’s Your Fault from Into the Woods, except with no music and no Bernadette Peters. I didn’t approve.
I had to do something. I couldn’t stand still, and I certainly couldn’t wait until Ari came to work on Monday only to find four corpses and one crazed and homicidal Will Darcy. I went in search of something, anything that I might use to get that door open. Tools, perhaps.
“What are you doing now?” Beth crossed her arms and glared at me.
“I have to get that door open.”
“With what?” she said sarcastically. “A seam ripper?”
I pretended to ignore her, but I was hyper aware of her scathing glower as if she willed me to fail. She wouldn’t be the victor. Not today, pixie girl. Determination under my wings, I searched harder and finally came upon some paper clips, corset boning, knitting needles, and a butter knife. I immediately set to work on the door, jamming the knife in the frame and poking around with the paper clips. I thought for a minute I felt it give, but then I lost it. Surely, it couldn’t be that difficult.
“Are you picking the lock?” asked Caroline.
“Yes.”
She hovered over me, blocking my light. It took all my willpower not to bite her head off. Maybe that was what Beth meant when she called me a shark. I sighed and counted to ten. Maybe Caroline got the hint or maybe she just got distracted by something shiny, but when she moved to the other side of the room, I was hyper aware of Beth sneering somewhere behind me.
“Do you mind?” I said, turning my head just enough to see her crossing her arms. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind me, MacGyver. Would you like some bubble gum and a wire hanger? You could build a bomb.”
“I’ve done this before, you know.”
“Oh? And then did the director call ‘cut?’”
I feigned a laugh. “Har har! Actually, a wire hanger would be great. Thank you.”
Caroline was at my side in seconds with the hanger and said quite seriously, “I have faith in you, Will.”
It was too much pressure. At one point, Bing tried to help me, using his flashlight app to illuminate the doorjamb. One thing I could say for those old industrial steel doors—the craftsmanship was far from shoddy. That was one sturdy mother-lovin’ door. After about a half hour, I took a break, not conceding to defeat, but to rest for a time. By then, Caroline amused herself by stacking spools of thread, Beth had found a copy of Anna Karenina somewhere on Ari’s shelves, and the lovebirds exchanged hushed secrets.
I was so worked up and quite frankly peeved beyond all that was good and holy, socializing with any of them was out of the question. And so I took a seat at Ari’s desk, fished a notebook out of my bag, and vented my frustrations on paper. It was much safer than venting on Bing’s face. I was able to write a few lines, but only before Caroline once again interrupted my solace.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing.”
“With a pen?” she asked confoundedly.
Smothering her with a pillow sounded good at that moment.
“Yes,” I hissed. “That’s usually what one uses to write in a journal.”
“OH! You keep a journal? I’d love to read it.”
“It’s private.”
“Oops. Sorry. So, it’s more like a diary.”
“If you want to call it that, yes.”
She thought about that for a minute and at length, asked, “You won’t let anyone read it?”
Clearly, I wouldn’t get much else down on paper. I sighed. “If you must know, my sister reads my journals sometimes.”
She perked up at this. “I didn’t know you had a sister. Is she older or younger?”
“Younger.”
“What does she look like?”
I could tell she was fishing for me to produce a photo. In fact, my sister Georgia’s image was the screensaver on my phone but sharing that somehow seemed oddly intimate all of a sudden. I didn’t have the energy for that.
“She’s my sister, I don’t know how to describe her. She’s petite, I guess.” I flicked my hand dismissively. “Like Beth.”
I felt rather than saw Beth look up from her book. A shift in energy waved through the room at the awareness.
“Does she live with you?” Caroline continued to drill for information.
Good Lord, woman! All the questions!
“Only when she’s in L.A. She’s at Juilliard School now.”
I didn’t mind bragging about that a little. I was truly proud of my sister. She had come a long way in recent years. It wasn’t an easy road.
“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” continued Caroline. “If she’s anything like you, she must be the most talented in her class.”
“Her talent far exceeds mine.”
“I’m glad to hear it. So many girls call themselves actors even when they lack the talent,” she said pointedly, rolling her eyes in Beth's general direction.
/> “She’s not an actress,” I replied. “She’s a musician.”
She didn’t seem to hear me, because she ploughed through with her thoughts.
“In order for an actress to get anywhere in this business, she has to have a strong dance background, can sing both classical and contemporary musical theatre, and have a great stage presence.”
Bing decided to join the conversation at that point. “I’m always so amazed at the talent I’m surrounded by every day,” he said. “All the girls in this cast are triple threats.”
“Hardly,” I said with a small laugh. I was still very much upset with him, and he had a lot to learn. I also noticed Beth set her book on her lap at that moment.
“I can probably count on one hand the women I know who are true triple threats,” I continued. “The term is applied too liberally these days.”
“I agree,” chimed in Caroline.
But then Beth cast aside her book entirely and finally spoke up. “You must have extremely high expectations, then.”
“I do,” I said. “It’s a competitive business.”
“I can imagine,” she said with a smirk. “It must take an immense amount of talent to bend over the hood of a Camaro in a bikini.”
I knew she was making a jab at my movies. I’d never pretended they were Oscar-worthy performances, but they were lucrative, and that paid for my sister’s tuition. I wasn’t proud of those films, but I didn’t have to explain myself to her.
“Acting, singing, and dancing are only the basic skills to make it,” said Caroline. “You have to be able to read music, play piano, have some acrobatic skill, perform basic stunts, have a thorough repertoire of songs in your arsenal, know the mechanics of acting on stage and on screen, not to mention voiceover work, and go seamlessly from drama to comedy in one audition.”
“Not to mention,” I added for good measure, “a brain in her head.”
Someone who reads books instead of stacking spools of thread.
“Well then,” said Beth to me, “I’d be surprised if you knew any actresses with that impressive list of skills.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No,” she replied, pointing her chin in the air. “That person doesn't exist.”
Caroline, bored with the subject, interjected, “I’ve been staring at that piano for the last hour.” She pointed to the upright piano in the corner. It looked pretty beat up. “Let’s play a song together, Will.”
No, no, no! I wasn’t up for that.
“I’m going to finish writing for now, thanks,” I said dismissively.
Caroline chuckled and tapped me on the shoulder. “You’re a regular Shakespeare, aren’t you?”
From the corner of my eye, I caught Beth making a puke face.
“It’s hard to be the Bard,” she said under her breath.
Touché, Miss Bennet. Touché.
6
Good Opinion Once Lost
Beth
Three hours passed since the brilliant Caroline shut the door, trapping us in the costume shop. For two of those hours, I watched, with some amusement, the futile efforts of Will-the-action-hero-Darcy to rescue us from our plight. He tried everything, it seemed, and with every passing minute, became more and more frustrated by degrees. The heat radiating off him became palpable as I could sense by the sheen of sweat on his face, and then after he removed his button-down shirt, more glistening sweat issued along the lines of muscle on his arms and shoulders exposed by a tank undershirt. If he continued to work fruitlessly on the door, I imagined he might have found the heat unbearable enough to warrant the removal of his tank as well. I wasn’t opposed to the idea, as it would pass the time by the amusement of watching him get upset and therefore, increase my pleasure twofold by the added benefit of a splendid view. I loathed the man, but I wasn’t blind.
I had long abandoned the book I’d found. Too many long chapters about nineteenth century Russian politics. Plus, the references to food made me hungry. I hadn’t had breakfast—and lunch consisted of a cashew butter sandwich and Funyuns. My stomach growled relentlessly, and I probably had rank breath. A perusal through Ari’s mini fridge produced only a few bottles of water and some hot sauce packets, and so, I’d grabbed one of the waters and occupied myself with a piece of remnant fabric, a needle, and thread.
I’d left my rehearsal bag upstairs and even if I’d brought it down into the dungeon, there would be little in it to occupy me. In fact, the only person to have brought their things was Will, and every now and then, he’d dig something out. He reminded me of an overachieving boy scout. Or Mary Poppins. After he abandoned his efforts on the door, he pulled out his iPad and started up a movie for the other three. Most surprising, was the fact he had Moulin Rouge downloaded, as if he watched it often. I didn’t have Will pegged as a fan of anything I would share an interest in.
“You have a digital copy of Moulin Rouge?” I exclaimed incredulously.
Will glared at me pointedly. “Yeah. What did you expect?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I responded. “Fast and Dangerous one through seven?”
He sneered at my comment but didn’t say anything more. After he set it up, he positioned himself at the other side of the shop.
Moulin Rouge was one of my favorites, but Bing, Jane, and Caroline fit nicely on the sofa together. An addition to their party on the sofa would have been too crowded.
For more than half of the movie, however, Caroline talked over it, starting absurd discussions about the parts she didn’t agree with. Bing gently reminded her more than once to enjoy it regardless.
For example, she’d say, “I’d prefer it without so much music.”
And then Bing would reply, “Then it wouldn’t be a musical.”
Will, ignoring all the rest of us, fished out his earbuds and listened to music on his phone. When the battery wore down, he plugged it in, because of course, he came prepared like the Mary Poppins Boy Scout he was. I also noticed he went into the adjacent bathroom to brush his teeth more than once. Not two seconds after he emerged from the bathroom the last time, Caroline accosted him so he could settle a disagreement between herself and Bing.
“What profession has better job security?” she bellowed at Will. “Film acting or theatre?”
“Neither one is a secure industry to pursue,” he said without any emotion. “If you want security, stay out of show business.”
“Yes, we know that,” she said. “But between the two, which do you prefer?”
“I make my living in film. You know that.”
“Well, I’d like to do both,” said Bing with vigor. “If I could, I’d film on location by day and perform on stage by night. I wouldn’t be able to decide between the two.”
I giggled at his wide-eyed optimism. He was quite adorable. “I can totally tell that about you,” I said lightheartedly.
“Really?” he asked. “Am I that transparent?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “I’m just a good judge of character.”
“Oh?” he said with interest. “And what’s your diagnosis, doctor?”
“It just shows you’re diverse in your interests and can adjust to any situation.”
“The theatre,” interjected Will, “is a great way to exercise your craft, but it doesn’t compare to film when it comes to monetary concerns. A performance in the theatre is fleeting, but once recorded on film, there’s no telling how much you can make in royalties for years to come.”
“I think the takeaway here,” I said to Bing, “is to do what makes you happy.”
“You have to admit,” Will retorted, “that a career in theatre is limited in its longevity. There are less and less roles as you age. Not so with film. Especially for men.”
Jane, who had been silent for much of the evening, smiled at Bing and said, “It doesn’t hurt to have the right people in your court, either.”
Will narrowed his eyes at her.
“All I know,” said Bing after some thought, “is that when
I’m in the theatre, there’s no place I’d rather be. But when I’m on a movie set, I feel the same kind of magic.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” I nodded in agreement.
Caroline, who must have felt left out of a conversation that she herself had started, stood from the sofa, stretched a little too provocatively in front of Will, and, pulling me from my seat, said, “Come on, Beth. I’m so sick of sitting on my butt. Let me show you some of my favorite yoga poses. It’s so good for the muffin top.”
I had little choice other than to follow her lead, muffin top remark notwithstanding. I figured I could do for a little bit of stretching anyway. We took the only available space for such an exercise and faced away from everybody. I noticed Will usurped my comfortable chair almost immediately after I quit it.
“Don’t forget to breathe, Eliza,” mewed Caroline while we were in downward dog. Where did she get off calling me Eliza?
“Doesn’t this feel soooo good?”
“Yeah,” I huffed. “Sure does.”
She turned her head slightly to look behind us while her rear end wiggled toward the ceiling. “Come join us, Will?”
Oh no, please no. I’d rather lock myself in the bathroom a la Michael in Be More Chill. I’d lock myself in there, and everybody else would have to hold their pee the rest of the weekend.
I could hear an appreciative groan come from Will’s vicinity.
“The view is just fine from here, thank you,” he said unabashedly.
I shot up immediately, and Caroline, a little slower to respond, also straightened her body to stand, but it was more like a bend and snap maneuver.
“Oh my goodness!” she squeaked. “Shame on you!”
She placed her hands on her hips, feigning offense at his confession of ogling her, but she giggled and blushed. She loved the attention. I wanted to hide within the costume racks and pretend to be invisible. But Caroline wasn’t content to be the object of only one person’s attention, regardless of gender and so, she linked her arm in mine and pulled me along with her as she planted herself right in front of Will.
“What do you think, Beth? What should we do to punish him?”
