by Connie Lacy
I was silent for a moment, staring into space.
“Do you want me to continue my research along that line or should I move on to tracing the family back to Europe?”
Disappointment must’ve been written all over my face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find what you were looking for. So you’re thinking your dad’s family might have a history of cancer?”
I closed my eyes, trying to think.
“Does your father have cancer?” she asked.
“No.”
She scrunched her eyebrows like she was trying to solve a mystery. But I didn’t want to explain further.
“So,” she said, glancing at the clock on her desk, “how do you want me to proceed?”
I didn’t know whether I wanted her to proceed at all.
“Can I think about it and get back to you?” I asked.
“Of course.”
*
Once I was ensconced at Panera and finished my bagel, I braced myself to call Tia.
“About damn time,” she said. “I’m sick of you not answering your phone and not answering my messages.”
I took a sip of my coffee.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Panera.”
“You alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, all I can say is what an asshole your director boyfriend is.”
“He’s not…”
“Oh yes he is. I mean, throwing it in Alex’s face like that! I told him it was a bad idea driving up there. I was like, you need to just move on. And he was like, I just wanna support her – how did he put it? – ‘support her artistic endeavors,’ or something like that. God!”
“Alex is a nice guy.”
“Tell me about it! And you dumped him. For no good reason. Just left him in the dust. I’m beginning to wonder if Alex is right – maybe you are using the casting couch to…”
“I am not!”
“Of course, Alex felt really bad about letting loose on you. He was like, I shouldn’t have said those things. And I was like, au contraire, she deserved it.”
“Is that why you wanted to talk to me? So you could make all kinds of accusations?”
“I…”
“And, oh, by the way, all that bullshit about you and Alex just being friends…”
“We were just friends until you totally pushed him away and broke his heart.”
“And then you…”
“Don’t you accuse me of…”
But I clicked ‘end’ and the call was over. I turned the phone off before it could ring or ding or vibrate again. I noticed then that everyone was staring at me, their looks ranging from amusement to pity to embarrassment.
I had hoped to make a quick escape but when I jumped in my car it wouldn’t crank. I looked at the gas gauge and the needle was on empty. Below empty, actually. But this time, my new gas can was in the trunk, just waiting for another attack of stupidity. So I walked across the busy street, filled my can at QT, walked back, struggled to pour the gas in my tank, spilling nearly half of it on my shoe, and finally got my car started. It only took a few minutes to fill up at the pump and I wondered why I hadn’t done it earlier. I was furious with myself and slammed the door as I climbed into the driver’s seat, nearly smashing my hand in the process. I took several deep breaths before pulling into traffic, stopping at the liquor store and the supermarket on the way home.
After storing my few groceries, I fixed myself a drink. It was still hot outside but I strolled onto the back patio and sat down at the table. And that’s when I noticed something amiss. Several tomatoes were lying on the ground inside the mesh fencing. Green ones, partially ripened ones and a red one. I hurried over and discovered it was more than just a few. There were at least a dozen lying about and they all had bite marks on them. And then I heard a skittering noise and saw to my horror that a squirrel was inside the enclosure.
“You little bastard! How’d you get in there?”
I examined the mesh carefully, walking around the outside of it. No opening of any kind. How had he gotten in? Every time I moved, the squirrel fled to another corner. He was trapped and scared out of his wits. I kept searching but couldn’t find a breach. And then it dawned on me that I must’ve accidentally let him in when I lifted the mesh and went for the clippers to cut my tomato. As soon as I stepped away, he darted inside. And then I carefully replaced the screen, the board and the rocks so he couldn’t get out. I caused his pain and suffering. And I caused the loss of those tomatoes that were no longer fit to eat. I don’t know why, exactly, but I burst out crying.
Finally, I sat back down at the table and took a big swallow of my drink. I had to let him out of there before he destroyed the tomato plants. I rummaged through my mother’s gardening chest and found a pair of gloves and forced myself to remove the three rocks and then the board. Then I grabbed the mesh and tossed it up onto the top of the enclosure, leaving the side of the cage open. I ran for the patio, cringing at the thought that the squirrel might run after me, crazy with panic. But he didn’t move. He stayed absolutely still as I watched, sensing, I guess, that I was watching him.
”Okay, little dumbass, I’m going inside now. See me going inside?”
With my drink in my hand, I backed toward the kitchen door. Then I ran inside, dashing for the window above the sink. I watched intently, determined to close the mesh again as soon as he escaped. I was halfway through my second drink before deciding I should go outside and check. I forced myself to be brave and inspected the entire enclosure, finally concluding the varmint snuck out while I wasn’t looking. I must’ve missed it while pouring that second drink. Maybe I should’ve retrieved the ruined tomatoes, but I couldn’t bring myself to go inside the cage. So much for being “gutsy” on the ground. I closed it up nice and tight and went back inside.
Part of me wanted to message Brian about what happened. But the other part – the part that won out – didn’t want to admit my ineptitude right then. Why would I want to talk about my life being jinxed, scaring the shit out of a poor little squirrel, getting into a fight at a bar, running out of gas twice, sleeping with a guy I didn’t love and abandoning people who cared for me. Jeez, the list was getting too long to keep up with. So I fixed myself a third drink and settled in to watch a movie. But they all seemed stupid and superficial so I gave up and turned off the TV.
20.
My makeup was deep purple lipstick outlined in black, with thick black eyeliner and fake black eyelashes. I powdered my face to make it look pale. The black wig was long, with bangs and a bit of spikiness on top. With my skinny black jeans, lacy black, long-sleeved top and fake black fingernails, I thought I could pass for a Goth girl.
When I walked into the theater, I found Sam, Barbara and a gangly teen-aged boy dressed in a white sparkly Elvis costume standing onstage. They were talking about the play and didn’t notice me until I’d almost reached the front of the house.
There was momentary confusion as though they were trying to figure out who I was.
“Oh my God,” Sam said, a smile sprouting on his face.
I grinned and shrugged what I hoped was a girlish shrug.
Barbara studied me closely and then raised her right eyebrow.
“Well, let’s get on with it,” she said, stepping around me so she could take her seat – third row, center.
Sam made the introductions.
“Jenna, this is Cameron. Cameron, this is Jenna. Okay, let’s do it.”
He dashed up the stairs to sit next to Barbara while Cameron and I turned into the weird 16 year olds, Rachel and Nelson, of End Days.
It was the scene where they kissed. Fortunately, it was written to be awkward because it was definitely awkward. It’s the scene where I tell him I’ve read A Brief History of Time, which he gave me, and he’s so excited that I like it and I end up grabbing his face and kissing him, not once, not twice, not three times, but four times. And he asks me if that means I like him and I say “m
aybe.”
And when I said “maybe,” Sam called out “Cut!” and came dashing onstage, beaming.
“Wow!” he said. “Cameron, you sounded like you really understood what you were talking about – all that stuff about the Hadron Collider and the Big Bang.”
“I googled it,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal.
*
“He’s the exact age of the character,” Sam said.
“He looks thirteen,” I replied.
We were walking home and I was conscious of the stares from people who really thought I was a Goth girl.
“Well, I’ve cast him as Nelson.”
“But…”
“Jenna, there are some things I don’t have control over.”
“You’re the director.”
“Well, Barbara pays my salary.”
“So you’re required to cast her grandson, even if he looks thirteen and can’t act his way out of a paper sack?”
“He’ll be fine. He takes coaching pretty well.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence, each with our own thoughts. But he reached for me and pulled me close once we were inside the apartment.
“I’ve never made it with a Goth girl before,” he said, and kissed me.
“No Goth girls in your repertoire?”
“Nope. But there’s always a first time.” He had an amused look in his eyes. “You really could pass for a teenage girl.”
“I thought you preferred older women.”
“I’m what you might call eclectic,” he said, kissing me again.
I wiped the dark lipstick from his mouth. It made him look like a bruised apple.
*
He was gone when I got up the next morning, which was unusual. I took a power walk, showered and had coffee and strawberries for breakfast. I was tidying up when he got home around one. He made an unusual amount of noise as he fixed himself a sandwich.
“You want a sandwich?” he called to me from the kitchen.
“Don’t think so.”
“Well, can you sit with me while I eat?”
So I came out of my bedroom and joined him at the small kitchen table.
“I’m not gonna beat around the bush,” he said. “We’ve cast someone else as Rachel.”
I just looked at him, trying to wrap my mind around this announcement.
“I’m sorry, Jenna. I wanted you but Barbara thinks you look too old next to Cameron.”
I stared at his sandwich. For some reason, I thought the role was automatically mine. Maybe I hadn’t thrown myself into it. Maybe I’d taken it for granted Sam would give me the part. So much for the casting couch. I almost asked if I could have another chance, a second audition. I felt sure I could prove to Barbara that I was capable of looking young enough beside her precious grandson. But I kept my mouth shut.
“It’s no reflection on your acting chops,” he said. “You were awesome. Very believable. This is all about Barbara.”
I stood up and walked across the room to stand by the window. For some reason the oak tree in the front yard looked like a painting framed by the window casing. Too perfect to be real.
“Jenna,” he said, following me and wrapping his arms around me from behind. Then he kissed my cheek.
“This’ll give you time to get your head shot done, your web site up and running – all those things actors have to do nowadays. You can audition at other theaters. And I’m flying up to New York next week, interviewing at that Brooklyn theater I told you about. If I get the job, you’re coming with me.”
*
When I arrived in the dressing room that evening, Judy was gabbing a mile a minute.
“It’s such a different character,” she said. “But Sam says I can definitely play a Jesus freak.” And she laughed loudly, oblivious to the feelings of the other actresses who probably tried out for the role as well. But she kept on and on, talking about how funny it would be doing scenes with Charlie Silverstein who’d been cast as Jesus. “Hilarious, ain’t it, since he’s Jewish!”
I began applying makeup, trying to remain calm. Sam never mentioned he’d chosen Judy for the role of the crazy mother in the next play. And before I knew it, I was rummaging through my purse.
“Oh, Judy,” I said. “I found your missing earring.”
And I held the little sand dollar earring up for all to see. She strolled over and took it from me, turning it this way and that.
“Well, how about that!” she cried, giving us all a toothy grin. “I never thought I’d see it again. Thank you, darlin’.”
“You want to know where I found it?”
“Well, as long as it wasn’t in the toilet, I don’t really care!”
And she laughed big and loud, retreating to her dressing table.
I was on the verge of telling her how I’d stepped on it as I was climbing out of Sam’s bed. My lips were actually parted and I wanted badly to say it. But I realized at the last second what it would sound like for the young woman everyone knew was sleeping with the director to accuse the older woman who was also sleeping with the director of having sex with him behind her back. Tacky. That’s how it would sound. And I was thankful it dawned on me in the nick of time. It was obvious Judy knew roughly where I’d found it. So I decided that was enough.
The show went off without a hitch that night. Judy and I were both professionals, you might say, and didn’t let the earring episode get in the way of a good performance. If anything, we both stepped up our game. Sam was unusually chatty on our walk home, talking about what a fantastic show it was, how awesome and believable the characters seemed, especially Shelby.
“Judy must’ve told you about the earring,” I finally blurted.
At which point he reached over and took my hand in his.
“Listen, Jenna, she has nothing to do with us.”
I refused to look at him.
“You’re my main squeeze,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close as we walked.
“Just out of curiosity, how many ‘squeezes’ do you have?”
He laughed and kissed me.
“But the thing is – you don’t care,” he said.
I thought about that. I guess it was true. I’d never given him the impression that I loved him and wanted him forever and ever. We enjoyed being together and one of the reasons for me was that I didn’t love him, didn’t have that strong emotional attachment. I could look him straight in the eye without worrying about what would happen. And he must’ve felt that, even if he didn’t really understand why.
His eyes were as excited about life as ever. He was always focused on the future. He must at least like me a lot and enjoy my company enough to keep asking me to go with him to New York. And who knew what that might lead to. Connections were important. And knowing a director – even if he was only a director of a Brooklyn theater – would give me a leg up. So when we got home, I cooked eggs over easy and toast while he filled our glasses with white wine. And when we finished eating we had each other for dessert.
21.
After the Sunday matinee, I hurried to change so I could meet Dad and Meg in the lobby. I was looking forward to being showered with praise, although once again I reminded myself not to look directly at them. It was a hard act to pull off. But as I reached the front of the stage I heard someone call my name. It was Brian, my yard man, and a young woman with short blonde hair.
“Brian! Wow! I can’t believe you came all the way to Charlotte,” I said.
I reached out to shake his hand.
“Jenna, this is my sister, Amy.”
She was about my height and very pretty in a violet peasant dress.
“You were wonderful as Shelby,” she said, taking my hand. “Even better than your role as the young Rose, I think.”
“Thank you so much. That’s awfully nice of you.”
“It’s hard to say one was better than the other,” Brian argued.
“You saw both plays?”
I asked, looking first at him and then his sister.
“Of course,” she said.
“You look so familiar,” I said. “Amy. I knew an Amy. Oh my God, you’re Amy Mitchell!”
And I gave her a quick hug. She was a classmate from elementary and middle school although we’d gone to different high schools. I hadn’t seen her since eighth grade, which seemed like a very long time ago. She seemed pleased I recognized her.
“So you’re her brother!” I said to Brian, trying to figure out all the coincidences.
“Yeah, she’s the one who took me to see the play in Atlanta.”
“Well, when I read in the paper you had a starring role,” she said, “I just had to get tickets. I remember when you played Wendy in Peter Pan in fifth grade. I was a little jealous of what a good actress you were. Anyway, I asked Brian to be my date. I was going to speak to you after the show that night but you had a crowd of people around you.”
“So, what are you up to these days?” I asked.
“I’m in medical school.”
“Holy crap!”
They both laughed.
That’s when Dad poked his head into the auditorium. He waved and smiled and I waved back. He and Meg strolled down to join us in the aisle and I made the introductions. We invited Brian and Amy to join us for dinner since they’d come such a long way but they said they needed to get back to Atlanta because they both had to get up early. And they were out the door.
Dad and Meg took me to a seafood restaurant and we had a fun dinner. As expected, they went on and on about the play. Meg said she cried after my character died. I have to admit it was so gratifying having them gush about my performance. Her tummy was getting bigger and we talked about how her morning sickness was pretty much gone and about decorating the baby’s room.
And then I posed the question I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“So, Dad, have you scheduled a physical?”
“Why in the world are you nagging me about that?” he replied. “I’m not that old, Miss Smarty Pants.”
