by Connie Lacy
And he looked at Meg for support.
“She’s just trying to be helpful, Tom. It does make sense, when you think about it. I certainly had a lot of tests done before I got pregnant. And a bunch more since then! If I’m an elderly gravida, you’re an elderly… what do you call an older expectant father?”
“An optimist,” he said.
And we laughed and moved on.
*
It was raining when I dropped Sam off at the airport Monday morning – the kind of rain that makes the whole world dreary. When I got back to the apartment, I climbed back in bed. I’d decided to stay in Charlotte on my days off rather than driving home, thinking I’d take his advice and work on my website and maybe go shopping. But I mostly spent the two days he was gone watching movies I’d already seen. You know, the romantic ones where the man and the woman overcome whatever obstacles are in their way and fall in love before the credits roll.
Sam was positively exuberant when I picked him up Wednesday afternoon. He kissed me when he climbed in the car, smiling and giving me a thumbs up.
“I got the job!”
And he kissed me again.
“Well, congratulations. That’s exciting news.”
“It’s my big break, my foot in the door.”
“So when do you leave?” I asked, pulling slowly away from the curb.
“Next week.”
“What about…”
“I already talked with Barbara and she’s got someone who can direct End Days. I can’t wait for you to see the theater. It’s so cool. And I’ve already got an apartment lined up. You’ll love the neighborhood. Lots of restaurants and shops. And you’ll never believe what our first play is.”
I could feel his eyes on me as I pulled onto the freeway.
“End Days. They already scheduled it before the other guy left. Can you believe it? I hope you saved your Goth girl getup. You’ll be awesome as Rachel. It’s a juicy part. And there’s no Barbara waiting up there to put her thumb on me. What a relief. The apartment’s unfurnished so we’ll have to buy some furniture. But I saw a couple of used furniture stores close by.”
He rattled on all the way home. I don’t think he even noticed I didn’t say anything because all I had time to do was nod and smile. And when we walked through the front door he grabbed me up and whirled me around.
“Let’s celebrate!” he said, his eyes big with excitement. “You got a dress you can wear tonight?”
He called some theater friends and told them to meet us at The Queen’s Pub for dinner and drinks – that he had some news to share. Two hours later we were ordering our first round. There were six of us – Sam, me, a couple of theater guys he’d gotten to know, Sean and Jermaine, our young stage manager, Caitlyn, and, of course, Judy.
“So what gives? What’s your big news?” she asked.
She had on her usual uniform – tight jeans and a form-fitting, V-neck top to show off her cleavage. This one was bright yellow and she was wearing dangly seahorse earrings.
“The drinks aren’t here yet,” he replied, pumping his eyebrows.
“Come on, Sam,” said Caitlyn.
She was in her late twenties, plump with long blonde hair. Pretty, but her tight dress showed off every bulge. I suddenly found myself wondering if Sam had made it with her too.
Sean was an aspiring playwright. He was short and slight, with dark hair and a pale complexion. Jermaine was his actor boyfriend – a tall, handsome black man.
Our waitress zoomed in with our drinks and took our dinner order. And as soon as she was gone Sam raised his glass and looked around the table.
“I want to propose a toast,” he said, “to myself!” Everyone laughed. “Because I’ve just been hired as Artistic Director of the Waverly Playhouse, a ‘way the hell off Broadway’ theater in Brooklyn, New York!”
“Woo hoo!” Caitlyn cried, holding her glass in front of her.
“Very cool,” said Sean.
“To the big shot!” said Judy.
We clinked our glasses together and then Sam launched into an animated description of his trip to New York, his interview, the theater, the neighborhood – everything he’d told me and then some.
“Can I come with you?” Caitlyn blurted.
“Yeah, Sam,” said Judy. “You taking any of your posse?”
And he winked and nodded his head at me.
“Well, ain’t you the lucky one,” Judy said, raising her daiquiri in my direction, bobbing her head from side to side. “A star is born.”
Our food arrived then – huge, fancy hamburgers with sweet potato fries and onion rings – along with our second round of drinks. Everyone pigged out, got sloshed and made Sam the center of attention. It was obvious they were happy for him and probably also hoping he might turn out to be a good contact. Except for Judy, who seemed content to be a big fish in a small pond, rather than a little fish in a very large swamp. Her husband, Hank, arrived as we were working on our fourth drink. He pulled a chair over and sat close to his wife, putting his arm around her.
“Can I have some of your fries?” he asked, popping one in his mouth.
“You won’t believe where Sam’s headin’ off to,” she said to him. “The Big Apple!”
“No kidding,” Hank said.
“Brooklyn, actually,” Sam replied.
“Congrats,” Hank said, “and good luck.” Then he leaned closer to Judy, kissing her on the cheek. “You ready to go?”
“Yup,” she said and drained her glass.
She laid several bills on the table and walked out with Hank’s hand on her waist. They were talking and smiling as they headed out the door, obviously very comfortable with each other. They’d been married for twenty years, had three kids and still seemed like a happy couple.
*
Sam held my hand as we walked home but he’d finally tired of talking. When we turned the corner onto our street, he stopped and stood in front of me.
“I missed you,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “Did you miss me?”
“Mm-hm.”
And he kissed me again.
“Jenna,” he said, looking into my eyes, “you know I think I could love you if you loved me.”
And his lips were on mine again.
“I’ve been waiting for you to tell me you love me,” he whispered.
“I have to love you first?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
But I couldn’t say it because my heart didn’t feel it. I didn’t resist, though, when he led me into the deep shade beneath the huge oak in our front yard, which blocked the light from the street lamps. And I didn’t resist when he lifted my dress and we did the deed right there, with my back against the massive tree trunk.
22.
Butterflies. I guess that’s why I knocked my makeup kit off the dressing table, sending it crashing to the floor. My lipsticks, foundation, powder, eye makeup, blush and brushes scattered everywhere. As I bent down to pick up the mess I whacked my knee on the chair, crying out in pain and frustration.
“Well, damn, Jenna, are you all right?” Judy said as she hurried over.
I couldn’t answer because I was clutching my knee and trying not to cry.
“Crystal, can you get some ice from the fridge?” she said to the girl who played Annelle.
I sat down carefully in the metal chair.
“You break the skin?” she asked me.
My eyes were clamped shut but I tried to relax and breathe.
“Let me see,” she said.
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
It was one thing to have her play my mother in the show, quite another to have her mother me in the dressing room.
Then Crystal rushed in with a ziplock bag full of ice cubes and handed it to Judy, who quickly wrapped it in a couple of paper towels.
“Here, this’ll soothe it a bit,” she said, passing the homemade ice pack to me.
I placed it on my knee, noticing there was no blood. It would be an ugly bru
ise, though.
Then Judy and Crystal cleaned up the mess on the floor, returning the usable makeup to my dressing table and sweeping the broken bits of plastic and makeup powder into a dust pan.
“You able to do the show?” Judy asked me.
I nodded.
“Sorry for all the drama,” I said. “Especially before the final show.”
Everyone laughed, except me.
So it was a challenge getting ready, finding the right tubes and compacts. I was still applying makeup when the others were getting into costume. I hurried to catch up, and managed to exit the dressing room only a couple of minutes after the rest of them. But as I trotted backstage, Judy smirked at me.
“Your wig’s on crooked,” she said, and took it upon herself to straighten it.
“Judy!”
I was about to tell her to get her hands off me. It almost popped out of my mouth but I realized I needed to focus and breathe, not lose my temper. So I waited till she finished, then put some distance between us so I could run my first few lines while I did some stretches.
“Full house,” Crystal said happily.
The show opened with lots of energy. And I figured my distraction would subside as I got into character. I really felt like I was “on” when I cried real tears during that first scene in Truvy’s hair salon when Shelby suffers from too much insulin and Judy, as my mother, forces me to drink orange juice to bring me back. Shelby’s anger and pain were so intense to me at that moment. And when M’Lynn explained to the others that the doctor told me I couldn’t have children, I was positively livid. How dare she talk about me like I wasn’t even there, throwing cold water on my hopes! The anger made me feel hot and sweaty. And when I looked into Judy’s eyes, as she was baby talking to me and pouring more juice down my gullet, I suddenly felt genuinely weak and disoriented. I didn’t realize until the very last second that my worst nightmare was coming true – I was having a vision-sight in front of a live audience.
The images flashed before me in quick succession, like a full-color silent movie. First, I saw Judy taking bow after bow as she got a standing ovation; then she was in bed with a younger man; then she was happily putting a huge dinner on the table for her family; next, there was a scene of her and her husband cooing to their first grandchild; then she was having sex with another guy young enough to be her son; and finally, she and Hank were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary, slicing into a heart-shaped cake.
When I came to, Judy was holding my chin with one hand and pretending to pour juice in my mouth with the other. She was whispering to me but they weren’t lines from the play.
“Jenna, you all right?”
The first thing I saw was her anxious face inches from mine. The rest of the cast crowded around as well, which was not the way the scene was blocked. It dawned on me they were forming a protective wall so no one could see me. Even though I was weak and couldn’t yet think properly, I could feel unease from the house, like the audience was holding its breath.
“Shelby?” Judy whispered, still holding the glass to my mouth.
How long had I been out, I wondered, trying to force myself to the surface, like I had dived into the water only to become trapped on the bottom of a pond, my legs embedded in muck, too weak to free myself. The voices were muffled as though my ears were filled with water.
“Come on, Shelby,” she whispered, a little louder this time, still holding my chin in her hand.
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air, scooted up in the chair and cleared my throat. Which seemed to trigger a slight murmuring in the audience as the other actresses backed away, finding their marks.
Then Judy said her line and nodded at me and I realized where we were in the scene and I delivered my line, telling her not to talk about me in the third person like that. But I was shaky, unsteady. And my voice sounded as tremulous as an old woman’s. And it was obvious she and the others were on pins and needles, wondering what the hell was going on. Thankfully, I was seated in the beautician’s chair. I could only imagine what would’ve happened if I’d been standing. We made it through the scene and when the curtains finally closed, we rushed offstage as the stage crew hustled onto the set.
The rest of the show went smoothly although I could tell the cast had a collective case of nerves. Judy, Crystal and the others were keeping their eyes on me, just in case. But I figured that’s exactly what my character, Shelby, had to endure – people watching her, waiting for her body to fail. So I used that defensiveness in my performance.
When we took our final bows, it was to roaring applause. I was the last one to dash onstage and when I did, the audience rose for a standing ovation. If we’d been a rock group, we would’ve had to do an encore. When it was finally over, I sprinted to the dressing room, flung my clothes and wig on the chair, pulled my own clothes on, grabbed my ruined makeup kit and rushed for the back door, trying desperately to slip away before anyone caught me. But I wasn’t fast enough. Just as I was hurrying through the door Sam called my name.
“I’m going home,” I called out, without slowing my pace. “See you later.”
I double-timed it down the back steps and across the parking lot to the sidewalk. But he ran after me, catching my arm and spinning me around.
“You’re not skipping the cast party!”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“You’re all anyone can talk about,” he argued. “How you made the scene with the orange juice so realistic, we were all holding our breath. Even Barbara was impressed. You were on fire tonight.”
“Not going.”
“If you want to build a good reputation as an actress and not burn any bridges, you’ll…”
“Listen, the last time I went to a cast party, that’s exactly what I did: burn bridges.”
He laughed, wrapping his arms around me.
“We won’t stay long,” he said. “Just let everyone fawn over you a bit and then we’ll go home.”
Did he really not know what happened? He was sitting next to Barbara for the show. Best seats in the house. Was he really unaware of my crisis?
“Why would you want to skip the cast party anyway?” he asked. “Everybody’s waiting for you.”
I took a deep breath.
By the time we arrived at Nathan’s Tavern I’d regained my composure. If everyone thought my performance was brilliant, then I wouldn’t try to disabuse them of that notion.
Cheering greeted us as we strolled in. Lots of hugs and congratulations. Sam got me a drink and showered me with praise. I’d just begun to relax when Barbara patted my arm.
“Kudos, dear. I don’t think that scene has ever been portrayed with more realism.”
I was about to say thank you but she didn’t give me time.
“In fact, I thought for a moment you were actually having a fit of some kind. It looked so authentic.”
“Well…” I said.
“Judy says she thought so too.”
“A fit? Really?”
“Or a seizure of some kind.”
Which sent a flutter through my stomach.
“Wow. It sounds like all the research I did on diabetic hypoglycemia paid off,” I said, smiling.
Sam appeared by my side then, like my knight in shining armor, handing me another drink.
“Man oh man, what an amazing finale,” he said, chuckling. “Don’t you think so, Barbara?”
“Indeed.”
Judy never said a word to me about it and Sam seemed clueless about her suspicions. Either that, or he was pretending. But later, as we were making our way to the exit and wishing everyone good luck, I heard Barbara’s voice behind me saying “Well, I’m just glad the audience was fooled.” I don’t know if Sam heard or not.
He rattled on about the show on our walk home. I tried to listen but my mind was elsewhere. I knew everyone was already talking about me in the bar. Of course, they wanted me to come to the cast party. They wanted to look me over so they could
figure out what kind of attack I’d had on stage. It’s possible that bets had even been placed!
It totally pissed me off that I let it happen. And what I’d seen in Judy’s eyes kept re-playing in my head. Family, love and happiness, with some younger men on the side. I didn’t know what to make of her.
I think Sam sensed I was already miles away from him. At any rate, we each slept in our own beds and then hurried to pack up in the morning.
When I pulled over to the curb to let him out at the airport, he leaned across to kiss me good-bye.
“Already missing you,” he said.
As I drove away, I noticed the sunlight had changed. It was that moment in mid-August when you get a preview of autumn even though it still gets into the nineties by late afternoon. But you know that summer is drawing to a close.
23.
It was nearly seven by the time I got to Atlanta. I stopped at Kroger before heading home. Had to put the groceries in the back seat because my trunk still wouldn’t open. Maybe I could get my bumper fixed while I was home.
When I stepped through the front door I was overwhelmed once again with how deserted the house seemed, despite all the furniture, the curtains, the paintings. The rooms were big and sterile. There was nothing of me here. It was like I’d hired an interior decorator who had no clue what I liked. I wished I could call someone but couldn’t figure out who.
I put the groceries away and hauled my suitcases in from the car. I set them in the foyer, not wanting to go upstairs. If I stayed downstairs, it felt more temporary. Which was good. I fixed myself a whiskey sour to go with a pre-packaged salad I’d bought and was just sitting down in front of the TV when my phone rang. It was Dad.
“So, no problems on the trip?”
“Totally uneventful.”
“Good. Listen, you’ll never guess who I ran into getting an oil change the other day.”
“Who?”
“Louis Spencer. Got to talking with him and told him you’d be in town for a few weeks and he invited us over for dinner – you, me and Meg – this Friday night. So I told him that sounded great.”
