by Joy Elbel
“He does not!” I snapped at him. He used to but that was none of Lucas’s business. “And he has a name, by the way. Zach,” I said, emphasizing his name to prove my point, “is perfectly okay with me spending time with you. He knows I love him and he knows that nothing will ever come between us.”
Lucas stood up and snatched his empty tray from the table. “He may be certain but are you?” He plucked a potato chip from my plate, popped it into his mouth and walked away with a smug smile.
Grrr! What was that supposed to mean? Why was he so certain that I wasn’t? This trip to Pittsburgh was going to be disastrous—I could just feel it.
Christmas cheer was in the air everywhere I went. It made me want to barf. Growing up, Christmas was never a big deal in our house. It wasn’t like my dad and I didn’t celebrate the holiday because we did. Just not excessively the way Shelly and every single person in Charlotte’s Grove seemed to. Dad and I were content with a small artificial tree and maybe a wreath or two. The closer we got to that infernal holiday, the more I longed for such a minimalist approach. Shelly kept it subtle last year due to my overwhelming depression. This year I wouldn’t be that lucky.
The hallways were draped with garland and lights twinkled above every classroom door. Even Misty, the Dark Lord herself, had taken to wearing a Santa hat and a small sprig of mistletoe on her belt. It figures that she could take a family holiday and turn it into something skanky. Of course all the boys followed her around salivating over what she was offering. There were only three boys who seemed immune to her questionably festive, definitely suggestive accessory— Zach, Boone, and Lucas.
Lucas. He brought me endless frustration but I refused to give up on trying to figure him out. It was almost like he had multiple personalities or something. One minute he was a cocky jerk on the prowl, the next a dark and brooding tortured soul that any Gothic novelist would have been proud to create. Which one was the real Lucas? I would make my final judgment on that after the Pittsburgh trip. Several hours alone with him should be sufficient time for me to coax out the truth. Hopefully. He was like a forgotten password—even after multiple attempts and fails, I still couldn’t give up on trying to figure him out.
With tons of homework before next week’s midterms, the week went by quickly. Too quickly. When I agreed to attend the auditions at the Bantam with Rachel, Friday seemed worlds away. Before I knew it, the final bell rang in the weekend I was dreading. Friday night in a creepy theater, Saturday in Pittsburgh with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Sunday forced to participate in the royal tree lighting ceremony at Rosewood. Yeah, the weekend was totally going to suck.
The bells of the old Baptist church began to chime the hour as Rachel and I stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the Bantam Theater. Ominous and perfectly timed. It felt like I was walking into my own funeral. When we opened the door and stepped inside the massive building, I half expected to find an open coffin and a somberly clad Misty comforting a grieving Zach. No, screw somber—Misty would wear a hot pink mini dress to my funeral.
I wish I could say that the interior of the Bantam looked nothing like it did in my dream. But if I did, I would be lying. The details were all there, from the chandelier to the fraying carpet. Everything was the same. The only thing I didn’t notice in my dream was the smell. It smelled like death.
It wasn’t the putrid odor of road kill in July—it was something subtle, yet menacing, with a distinct top note of fear. “Yuck! It smells awful in here!” I clamped my hand over my nose to block the brunt of it from entering my nostrils but it barely helped at all.
“Oh, Ruby! It’s not that bad—a little dusty but no worse than your average attic.” She pulled some cotton candy scented body spray out of her bag and gave a few sprays. “There—problem solved.”
Problem solved. Only if you liked the smell of death wrapped in spun sugar—which I definitely didn’t. But if I was going to spend any length of time in there, I had to get used to that scent. Slowly, I peeled my hand away from my face and followed Rachel to the front rows where everyone else had gathered.
The turnout was better than I expected. In total, about fifty people sat in the velvet seats. Some faces I recognized, some I didn’t. Most of them looked like college students but there were a few kids I recognized from school there, too. Excited chatter came from every seat—make that every seat but mine. The atmosphere was a thick, stagnant pool of latent energy. I hadn’t seen a thing yet but I was certain that something was there. Something I didn’t want to be a part of.
A thin man in his early thirties emerged from behind the curtain and walked briskly to the center. “SILENCE!” he announced with such authority that all noise in the theater became nothing but a distant memory. I watched as the excitement literally seemed to drain right out of the crowd. If I were actually happy to be there, I would have had the same reaction.
He walked to the edge of the stage with the presence of a drill sergeant. Then, he jumped down onto the floor in front of us, threw his arms into the air and exclaimed jovially, “Welcome to the Bantam Theater!”
The throng of hopefuls once again looked, well, hopeful. The man ran down the first row high fiving everyone like an aging rock star. If he decided to crowd surf next, I was outta there. Thankfully, stage diving wasn’t on his agenda. He simply flopped down onto the floor and folded his legs underneath him.
“Before we get started with the auditions, I want to tell you a little bit about myself and this historic theater. My name is Jonas Mazzerati, son of famous Broadway director Giuseppe Mazzerati. I have a fine arts degree and taught theater before moving on to directing as well. I spent the last few years directing off Broadway shows before deciding to move to Charlotte’s Grove to resurrect this masterpiece you see before you.”
Masterpiece? The Paris Opera House was a masterpiece—the Bantam Theater was nothing but a rundown pit of despair. Who in their right mind would look at this place and not want to rent a wrecking ball for the weekend?
“The Bantam Theater was built in 1850 by the town founder, Joshua Abbot Baker. His wife Charlotte Mae Bantam, who died tragically a few years earlier during childbirth, was a patron of the arts and he built this theater to honor her memory. Their only daughter Scarlet funded the theater until she died in 1940 but the building fell into a state of disrepair in the years following her death. After a series of owners bought and abandoned the property, my father acquired the Bantam in 1972 and brought culture back to this small town. Twenty years later when the call of Broadway became impossible for him to ignore, my father sold the theater. Except for a brief attempt by the local college to revive it, the Bantam remained untouched until now.”
Untouched. Was that a delicate way of saying that it sat moldering and festering unhindered for two decades? I watched as the rest of the group marveled at the interior, entranced by his story. Were they all blind to the fact that this place was a total dump? The only things missing were the giant cobwebs I pictured shrouding each corner. See, even spiders wouldn’t hang out in this heap!
“Now the Bantam belongs to me and my goal is to make it as popular as it was in the days my father owned it. So without further ado, I’ll get to the point of why we are all here tonight.” Jonas raised himself off of the floor and retrieved a messenger bag from just off stage. He pulled out a stack of papers. “This is my greatest work—The Phantom Affair.”
Jonas handed a copy of the script to everyone, smiling at each and every one of us as he did so. When he got to me, I took it from him unenthusiastically. Rachel nudged me with her elbow, practically knocking it out of my hand. I got her message loud and clear, though, and gave him the best fake smile I had. His eyes twinkled like the city lights at midnight, obviously proud to share what he created. This play would have to be better than Shakespeare’s finest if he expected it to make the audience forget that they were sitting in such a creepy place.
“The Phantom Affair is a modernization of the beloved classic, The Phantom of the Opera,” Jo
nas began, pacing the floor as he spoke. “The story is set in a community theater not unlike this one. It is an ageless tale of divided hearts and misguided love.”
The sound of the theater door opening and banging violently shut behind us brought Jonas to a halt. A voice rang out from the back of the theater. “Sorry I’m late.”
I recognized that voice instantly. It was Lucas. What was he doing here? He didn’t seem the community theater type but, then again, neither did I. I had different reasons for being here. Did he have a hidden agenda, too?
Jonas dug out another copy of the script and offered it to Lucas. “You haven’t missed much—take a seat.” Lucas made eye contact with me, displayed a brief look of shock, then smiled and sat down beside me. “Where’s your boyfriend?” he whispered.
A stern look from Jonas kept me from answering him. He had no business asking me that question anyway. I turned my attention back to Jonas who had begun to explain the plot of The Phantom Affair.
“The main character of the play is a girl named Kira. Kira is a young actress who’s destined for stardom. Everyone thinks she’s naturally talented on the stage—including her fiancée, Roarke. What no one knows is that she has a secret acting coach. His name is Erik and he is a man of great talent who hides in the shadows, guiding Kira’s career from behind the scenes. Erik is in love with Kira and conceals his feelings for fear of rejection. But true feelings can only be restrained for so long. On the night of her biggest performance, Erik kidnaps her with the intent of keeping her until she falls in love with him. Kira’s disappearance sends Roarke on a frantic search that ends when he finds her in the arms of Erik. Roarke, unable to believe that Kira has truly chosen Erik, starts a fight he can’t win. Roarke dies by Kira’s hand as she chooses to protect the man she really loves. In the end, the hero loses and the loser becomes the hero.”
Wow. The plot of the play was just as morbid as the Bantam. Heroes aren’t supposed to lose! I knew already that I preferred the original story over this more modern version. The only thing I liked was the fact that he kept the name Erik for the part of the Phantom. Any other name would have just felt wrong. Unless he decided to call him Zach, that is. Even when he wasn’t around, just hearing Zach’s name kept me warm. And I was going to need every bit of warmth I could get. Either there was no heat in that theater whatsoever or something extremely paranormal was about to happen. Please let it be a faulty furnace.
Casting for Kira and Erik was first on the agenda. Five girls plus Rachel lined up excitedly with scripts in hand. Four boys formed a line beside them to audition for the part of Erik. To my surprise, Lucas stood up to join them.
“Come on, Ruby,” he said holding out his hand to me. “Be my Kira.” I vigorously shook my head no. “I’m only here with Rachel for moral support—there’s no way I’m getting up there.”
Lucas shrugged his shoulders. “Never say never,” he said coolly and headed for the stage. Watching the auditions was boring at best so halfway through I got up to stretch my legs. I wandered back the aisle, the air feeling thicker and more oppressive as Whatever was here was close—I could sense it. I walked.
And I was positive now that it had nothing to do with the heating system. As I reached the center of the aisle, I found myself in the same spot where I stood in my first dream about the Bantam. Compelled to look up, my eyes landed squarely on the balcony I knew would be there. The glare from the dusty old chandelier kept me from making out any details but I caught a flash of white and then nothing, nothing but the inky black darkness. I cast my eyes downward and they met with a gruesome sight.
Standing before me was Allison Cornell clad in a gown of white lace, blood stains trailing down the bodice. Her eyes hollow, her hair ratty and wild, she looked me in the eye and emitted a high pitched wail that was well beyond the range of what any human voice could manage. It was the kind of scream that could peel the paint off of the walls, shake the chandelier from the rafters. With her jaw spread wide, I could see that her tongue had been ripped from the bottom of her mouth. I felt like I’d just been sprayed with a blast of freezing cold acid.
Racked with fear, I gripped the seat in front of me for support until the tip of one of my fingernails snapped off from the pressure. And then, as though she were tied by an unseen rope, she was sucked back into oblivion. Gone—with only the ringing in my ears and a broken nail to remind me that what I just experienced was real. At least for me anyway.
“Ruby!” Rachel called my name but I had no intention of answering her. My attention was solely focused on the memory of Allison’s ghost. Scarlet was nothing more than a wisp in the dark. Garnet followed me around like a creepy puppy dog. But this, this was different. She wasn’t a shade, she wasn’t a phantom—I was dealing with something new entirely. How many different kinds of ghosts were there anyway?
“Ruby?” Rachel was right behind me now and I turned to give her the news. Before I could even open my mouth, she gasped.
“Ruby! Are you okay? You look like you just—“ “Saw a ghost?” I interjected and finished her sentence for her. I really detested that phrase. “Well, that’s because I just did.”
“OMG—was it her? Was it Allison?” she asked, her blue eyes open to nearly double their normal size. I paused for a moment, tempted to lie and tell her no. After just one encounter with Allison, I could feel how powerful she was and it terrified me. I’d faced down death before but this time it truly felt like I just met its incorporeal form. What if Zach’s luck really did run out? What if I not only met my match but his as well? But what if Crimson was still alive and I was her only hope for survival? I had to stop being selfish and I knew it.
“It was her,” I said, noticing the waver in my voice as I spoke. “I’ve never seen or felt anything like it, Rachel.” Sometimes fear brought involuntary tears to my eyes. This was one of those times.
I was about to explain it to her when I noticed Lucas bounding up the aisle toward us. “I’ll tell you about it on the way home, okay?” I said, wiping at my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater. Lucas couldn’t see me crying. What would I say was wrong?
“Hey, Jonas is about to announce who got parts—you don’t want to miss this.” He tossed the hair out of his eyes and gave me a soulful look. “I really wish you’d auditioned for the role of Kira, Ru. You and she have a lot in common.”
I didn’t know what to say so I just smiled politely. What did he mean by that? Was he insinuating that I was torn between him and Zach? Because if so, he was dead wrong. He was only seeing what he wanted to see. But then again, I had to take Lee’s final words to me into account. What if Lucas was the one I was supposed to be with? What if meeting and falling in love with Zach was just a mistake? No—I swept that thought right out of my mind. There was no way a love like ours could be a mistake. There had to be a reason, though, for why I met Lucas when I did. Meeting him stopped me from having sex with Zach—did it happen that way because that would have been a mistake? Grrr! I had to find a way to shut off my brain and just let my heart do the talking.
I followed Lucas and Rachel to the front of the theater and sat down between them. Jonas stood in the middle of the stage and cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.
“You all did such a good job that it made my job exceedingly tough. To all of those who didn’t get a part, I encourage you to try again next time. And to anyone who didn’t audition,” he said obviously eyeing me, “I hope you think about doing so for my next play in March.”
One by one, he ran down through the list of characters until he got to the final two—Kira and Erik. Anyone who didn’t already have a part leaned forward in obvious anticipation—Lucas and Rachel included.
“Kira will be played by Rachel Mason and the part of Erik goes to,” he paused dramatically before announcing the next name, “Lucas Seeley.”
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!!” Rachel gave me an accidental head butt in her attempt to celebrate with a hug. “Ow!” I exclaimed, rubbing my fo
rehead at the point of impact. “I think I’ll just be happy for you from a distance next time.”
“Sorry, but you know how much I want to be an actress!” she replied with a laugh, massaging her own forehead as she talked. The girl sitting on her other side offered her congratulations so Rachel gave her a celebratory hug as well—minus the head butt this time.
I was excited for her but felt nothing but dread for myself. While she would be living her dream, I would be delving into yet another nightmare. Could my life get any more complicated? Stupid freakin’ question.
Yes, yes, it could. Lucas slid his arm around my shoulders and gave me a soft hug. “Too bad,” he whispered in my ear. “You would have been the perfect Kira to my Erik.”
I wiggled out of his embrace before Rachel saw us. “I told you—acting’s not my thing,” I said sternly. “And nothing you say could ever change that.”
Lucas smiled cleverly. “You’re so sure of what you’ll never do, aren’t you? Nothing is ever absolute, you know.” Every word that came out of his mouth seemed to have a double meaning. Or did it? Maybe I was just reading into everything he said assuming that it meant more than it did. I let out an exasperated sigh. Great—I couldn’t even trust my own judgment anymore. Why couldn’t boys be more like girls? I never had this kind of confusion with Rachel—she said what she meant without any kind of hidden meaning. Dating girls would be so much easier. Maybe Chloe was on to something.
Jonas distributed the rehearsal schedule and dismissed us for the night. Rachel was disappointed to find that the first rehearsal wasn’t until the first week of January. Me? Relieved that I got a two week reprieve before having to set foot in that hellhole again.
Walking through the door and onto the sidewalk was equivalent to entering another world. A dazzlingly white, definitively cold world. But it was a breath of fresh air— literally. I would probably have to burn my clothes to banish the foul stench of the Bantam. If I weren’t wearing my favorite jeans and awesome new hoodie, I think I would have.
