by Erin Zak
Stevie.
In the flesh. And as the crowd continued to clear, her view of Stevie was even better. She was wearing a formfitting black dress with a gold zipper down the back of it and black heels that were at least three inches tall. She looked so sexy. Bernadette shook her head when she realized what had gone through her mind. She needed to stop staring, so she averted her eyes, sipped her wine, and let the cold liquid wet her very dry mouth. She continued to steal glances, though, which she knew she needed to stop, but she was enjoying watching Stevie smile and the way she communicated with her hands as well; it made her feel warm and calm, yet also excited.
Connie’s words about remaining professional were floating around in her brain, but for some reason, the sound of Connie’s voice was drowned out by the memory of Stevie introducing herself, Stevie’s nervous laughter, and the sound of Stevie’s even breathing as she took in every word from her reading. Ever since then, Bernadette struggled to get this random woman out of her mind. She knew it was stupid to fixate on someone she would probably never see again, but there she was. Standing there. Looking like that. And it made her wonder what the hell it meant. Regardless of her feelings about psychic readings, higher powers, and the universe’s involvement in things, she knew some things were inexplicable. And maybe this was one of those things.
Bernadette finally turned and made her way back toward the column near where she’d been standing before. She glanced behind her when she was safely situated against the wall near the column, able to scan the room from there and keep her eyes on everything. As soon as her gaze landed on Stevie, she realized Stevie’s eyes were on her.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Bernadette’s breath caught in her throat, and she looked away as fast as she could. She slid along the wall, as far from the column as she could without drawing attention to herself. The crowd was thin enough now, though, that she was sure she was sticking out like a sore thumb. She didn’t care. It was the first time ever she wished someone would come talk to her. Not Stevie, of course, but someone, anyone, a man even! She wondered if maybe she should bail, go to the bathroom, get the hell out of there any way possible. But as she started to concoct a plan to disappear, she saw Stevie walking toward her. She was all legs and heels and blond hair, and it was making Bernadette hope for something drastic to happen, like maybe the theater didn’t pay their electricity bill, and the lights would miraculously shut off. God, Bernadette, you’re so fucking stupid. She brought her wine to her lips and was going to sip it nonchalantly but instead whispered, “Fuck it,” and took a giant gulp.
“Hey there,” Stevie said, now standing in front of Bernadette, who swallowed the wine, then licked her lips. “Do you remember me?”
Bernadette wanted to say, Nope, I sure don’t! but her brain malfunctioned, and instead she said, “How could I forget you?” She regretted it immediately, but then she saw something pass over Stevie’s face. What was that? Was that happiness? Whatever it was made Bernadette’s regret dissipate.
“I had no idea you were…” Stevie looked around them and then cleared her throat. “You were good up there.”
Bernadette smiled and could feel her eyebrow arching. “Thank you. Are you here with anyone?” She knew Stevie was, but she was trying to be smooth. She hoped it was working.
Stevie nodded. “Laurie and Ashley. My friends. Cast mate and director.” Her hands were clasped in front of her. “I have a question for you, and I need to ask it.”
“Okay…” Jesus, what the hell was she going to ask?
“So, like, my reading.” Stevie’s hands came unclasped, and she pushed her hair behind her ears. She was wearing large gold hoop earrings, and she looked as if she was going to vomit. “Was there any moment when you thought that maybe it was all…y’know…real? Or whatever?”
Bernadette tilted her head and smiled. “Real?”
“Yeah, or whatever.”
“Do you want to elaborate? Because I absolutely think it was real.” Bernadette leaned forward the smallest of amounts and locked her eyes onto Stevie’s. “I mean, it really happened, if that’s what you mean.”
Stevie laughed. It was the same nervous laugh from the night of the reading, and it made Bernadette’s heart flutter. “No, that’s not what I mean. I know it really happened.”
“Then…?”
“I don’t know.” Stevie leaned against the wall with her shoulder next to where Bernadette was standing. She was much closer now, and the scent of her perfume was intoxicating. Far more so than the wine Bernadette wanted to down. Stevie continued, “I just have a hard time believing things. I normally take everything at face value, I don’t look for hidden meaning, and I don’t believe in fate or the universe controlling things. So the reading made me falter a little. In ways I did not anticipate. Of course, I didn’t think I’d go through with it.” Stevie took a breath and looked down at her hands, so Bernadette did the same. They were shaking, and as she brought her gaze back to Stevie, she noticed her eyes were filled with tears. “You see a lot of shit, I bet. Hear a lot of things, too. I’m sure you’ve learned how to handle people and their readings and the things you hear. But…” Stevie paused, and her chest rose from her intake of breath. As she let it out, Bernadette felt this pull to know everything about her. “I don’t know how to handle hearing some of the things said—signed, whatever.” Stevie looked up at her. “You know what I mean?”
She was so immersed in every word Stevie was saying that she had no idea how to respond other than to nod.
“It’s normal to have something like that shake me to the core?”
“It is.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes, we don’t hear what our souls and our auras are saying. Or maybe we don’t listen? I don’t know. But Connie?” Bernadette shrugged. “She can hear them.”
“Oh.”
“She can’t hear anything else, but she can hear that.” She smiled, and instead of fighting the urge to touch Stevie’s arm, she gave in and let her hand reach out and feel Stevie’s warm skin underneath her palm and her fingers. “Your reading was good, though. Why do you seem so upset?”
“I have no idea.” She paused and looked at Bernadette. Stevie’s eyes were so blue, and her makeup, although super natural, was so pretty up close. Her skin was flawless, too, except for a scar to the outside of her left eyebrow. She didn’t even have wrinkles. How the hell young was she? “What did your soul say when she read your cards?”
“She’s never read my cards,” Bernadette answered after she pulled her hand away from Stevie’s arm. She shrugged and smiled at Stevie’s surprised expression. “Does that shock you?”
“Why hasn’t she read yours?”
She looked away from Stevie. “No reason.” Because I’m afraid of what they will say, what they might reveal about who I am as a person. “Trying to remain professional.” She glanced back at Stevie, whose eyes were narrowed in disapproval of the answer, and then quickly looked away again.
“Maybe you need someone to listen to your soul.” Stevie’s statement was so simple yet beautiful. A lump formed in Bernadette’s throat. “Maybe you’ll let me someday.”
Bernadette wanted to protest, to say her soul had been listened to plenty of times, but she couldn’t find her words or her voice or her breath, and even if she could have, she would have been lying. She watched as Stevie pushed away from the wall and turned to walk away from her when her friends called her name. Was she really letting Stevie walk away? After the sleepless nights and the wondering if she would ever see this woman again, she was going to let her walk away? What the hell was she doing?
“Stevie!” Bernadette heard herself shout. Stevie stopped in her tracks and turned around. “Maybe.”
And Stevie smiled a smile Bernadette would never forget. She nodded before she turned back around and walked out of the theater.
Chapter Six
To say Bernadette was confused for the next few days was an understatement. H
er interpreting gigs were going well, but she found her mind straying at the most inopportune moments.
She was tutoring ASL students during the day at Northwestern and wondering when she would see Stevie again. She was interpreting for deaf students at the Boys & Girls Club after her tutoring appointments and wondering if she had any way of contacting her. She was interpreting for Connie at night during the weekends, wondering if she could Facebook-stalk Stevie and find out more about her.
She was in over her head, and for the first time in a very long time, she was enjoying the distraction. And it was a problem. A huge problem. For many reasons.
One, it was unprofessional. And she knew it, but dammit, she didn’t care.
Two, she didn’t need a distraction. She needed to focus on her mother, on supporting them, paying the bills, but it felt nice to enjoy thinking about someone other than the normal person who always occupied her brain.
Three—and truthfully, this should have been at the top of the list—she kind of had a girlfriend. Sarah wasn’t a bad person. She treated Bernadette so well. Except, of course, when she would get snippy about Bernadette’s inability to leave her mother alone at the drop of a hat.
The whole situation was messy. Ultimately, she needed to figure out what she was going to do with her mother. She’d never have a chance for a relationship if she was never able to move in with the person, live a happy life. But promising to never put her mother in a home, to never abandon her, was the only thing that made her feel she was honoring her father’s memory. Unfortunately, the resentment she’d buried years earlier was starting to sprout, and it was only a matter of time before the roots cracked her foundation.
Until then, she would keep her head down, stay focused on her relationship with Sarah which would never lead to love, and care for her mother as much as possible without hating the fact that she promised to do it.
It wasn’t a great way to live, but it was all she had to hold on to.
So when Paul called and told her that Marci was going to watch their mother while he took Bernadette out to a show, she decided to go with the flow instead of fighting it like she normally would have done. She didn’t even question it, which made Paul question it.
“Are you sure you want to do this? Why aren’t you protesting?” He paused, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Are you going to kill me?”
She laughed along with Paul as she stopped and pulled on his arm. “I thought it’d be good to hang out for once. If I’m not working, I’m watching Mom.” They turned the corner and headed toward Improv Chicago where he was taking her for a new show that was apparently getting rave reviews.
“Oh, I know,” Paul said, their footsteps hitting the sidewalk at the same time. “You need to relax. Y’know, Mom can take care of herself.”
“Paul—”
“I don’t want to fight.” He waved his hand through the air. “But you need to know she’s not an invalid.”
She sighed. “I know.”
“Okay, as long as you know.” They arrived at the theater, and he opened the door for her. “And you clean up nice. Not as frumpy as you were when we were growing up.” She stopped in her tracks and turned to backhand him. He cowered at her raised hand and laughed. “I’m joking! Jesus!”
“You’re such a dickhead.”
“I know, I know.”
As they followed an usher to their table and seats, Paul ordered them both drinks, his a gin and tonic, hers a vodka soda with a lime. She grinned. “You remember my drink?”
“Of course, Bernie. I know I’m a shitty brother, but I remember shit.” He kept his voice low and said, “You know, you’re my favorite sister.”
“I’m your only sister.”
“Oh? Shit. My bad.” They both laughed, and Bernadette wondered why they didn’t try to hang out more often. It seemed like every time they did, they always had a great time. It was probably because she hated Marci, and she refused to do anything with them as a couple. But alone? They would laugh and reminisce, and at the end of it, one of them would wind up in tears talking about their dad. Happened that way every single time. Hopefully, it wouldn’t happen that way tonight, though, because Bernadette had been in a mood, so she knew it would be her that wound up a mess.
“Good evening, Chicago!” The voice over the speakers was booming, and the audience all sat at attention. “Is everyone ready to have a good cry?”
The crowd of people all around Bernadette and Paul shouted, “No, we want to laugh!”
“Are you sure?” the voice asked.
“We want to laugh!”
Bernadette leaned into Paul. “This got good reviews?”
He nodded. “I guess?”
And then onto the stage burst seven people, each in a different colored hoodie, and the voice said, “Welcome to the stage, Dinosaur Triplets!”
“But there are seven,” Paul whispered.
“I’m so confused,” she whispered back. And when she looked back at the stage, the performers all pulled their hoods from their heads. “Oh my God.”
Paul looked at her. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
Bernadette nodded and forced herself to smile. She had no idea if it was working because her entire body was having a hot flash. She stared ahead and watched as none other than Stevie Adams introduced herself and started things off.
“We are going to need the name of something you’d find in your junk drawer,” Stevie shouted from the stage.
“Razor!”
“Stapler!”
“Batteries!”
“A writing utensil!”
“A recipe!”
“My dad’s false teeth!”
Bernadette recognized that voice. She whipped her head toward Paul and smacked him on the arm. “What are you doing?”
“I’m playing along,” he said with a hiss. “Calm down.”
“Dad’s false teeth?” Stevie asked from stage and held her hand over her eyes to shield the spotlight. “What a completely normal thing to keep in the junk drawer.” The crowd was laughing.
“Yes,” Paul replied, and Bernadette sank farther into her chair as she watched the improv troupe all get into their places.
Stevie crouched over on stage, an imaginary walker in front of her. “Delores! My teeth. Where are my teeth?”
“Dad, I’m telling you,” said another cast mate, “you need to keep a better eye on them. Why do you even take them out?”
“Honey,” Stevie started, her lips sucked in to make it appear that she had no teeth, “you know your mother hates when I keep them in at night.”
The crowd laughed and a few said, “Eww,” and Bernadette couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Dad! That is disgusting.”
“It’s human nature,” Stevie said and winked before another cast member shouted, “Freeze.”
The guy who yelled tapped Stevie on the shoulder and then jumped into her spot. “It’s human nature?” he whined. He was acting like a small child. “To make someone eat lima beans?”
“You’re gonna eat your lima beans, you little shit, if it’s the last thing you do.” Stevie was stirring a pot and ladled out a spoonful of something onto his imaginary plate. “So sit down and eat.” And the cast member did as he was told, pouting and stomping his feet the entire time. “And don’t give me any lip.”
He shoveled lima beans into his mouth and said, “Mama, you’re the best. These are delicious.” His mouth was full, and the crowd was giggling.
“You need to stop hanging out with those kids who don’t like beans. Only bad kids don’t eat their lima beans.”
“Freeze!”
And the game continued with two new people. Stevie ran to the back of the stage and high-fived a couple women in the cast. She was smiling and bouncing around. Her hair was curled, and she was wearing black skinny slacks with a pair of black booties. She stripped her hoodie off, and now she was wearing a red blouse with small polka d
ots on it. She looked absolutely adorable.
Bernadette could feel herself sinking further and further into whatever was happening in her brain concerning Stevie. She observed Stevie’s every movement, every word, every different character, every accent, every imaginary piece of furniture or opening of a can or chewing of a wad of bubble gum as she became the annoyed sales associate at Hot Topic dealing with rowdy teenagers. She wasn’t always the most hilarious, but she was always the most into her character. She transformed, right there before the audience’s eyes, with no props, only her body movements, voice, and facial expressions to get her there. She had been to improv shows before, but this was the first time she ever truly appreciated an improv actor’s skill.
There were a couple more improv games. One in particular grabbed Bernadette’s attention because it was Stevie singing and a very attractive man with perfect dark skin and dreads playing guitar. They asked two people in front what they were doing in Chicago and where they were from and improvised an entire song about Fargo, North Dakota, Paul Bunyan, and Babe, the Blue Ox. Stevie’s voice was beautiful, and her ability to improvise the entire song was amazing. She was so talented, and goddammit, she was gorgeous.
* * *
“You seemed to enjoy that show,” Paul said before he took a drink of the beer the bartender delivered moments earlier. His idea to extend the night wasn’t normal, but it was hard to say no when he acted as if he was out of prison for the first time in years. “I don’t know if I’ve seen you smile and laugh like that before.”
Bernadette tilted her head and glared at him. “You act like I’m such a stick-in-the-mud.”
“Well, yeah, if the shoe fucking fits.”
