by Gigi Blume
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 be truly accomplished, 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 in this business,” 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 one must have 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 in 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 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?
“Isn’t this refreshing?”
“Yeah,” I huffed. “Sure is.”
She turned her head slightly to look behind us while her rear end wiggled toward the ceiling. “Care to 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? Should we punish him?”
Will shifted in his seat, crossing his legs, and I noticed he held in a breath.
“I think,” I said, “that we should just ignore him.”
Will let out the breath, but the rhythm of his breathing was shallow and erratic. This wasn’t Caroline’s first rodeo.
“That’s impossible,” she said. “We’re trapped indefinitely. We might have to choose who gets eaten and who gets to eat.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lovett,” I said, “but remember, actors always taste overdone.”
I saw Will relax at my joke as the corner of his lip curled ever so slightly. He caught the Sweeney Todd reference. That also surprised me.
“We’ll have to just tease him,” I concluded. “Laugh at him.”
“Laugh at Will Darcy?” blurted Caroline, disentangling her arm from mine and crossing to perch herself on the piano. “I don’t think so.”
For some reason, I felt inclined to remain rooted in place, even considering the proximity to Will. Maybe it was the advantage I had in that position in regard to height. I was hardly ever able to look down on someone. It felt good. Especially when that someone was an arrogant misanthropic misogynist.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because…” she cooed. Good heavens, now she was twirling her hair. “He’s a good man.”
“A good man?” I couldn’t believe this girl. “Less than a minute ago, you were considering mincing him into pie filling. Besides, there’s always something to laugh at. Even with action heroes.”
Caroline just shrugged as if to say Will Darcy shan't be laughed at because he is without fault other than his pervy remarks.
I looked down at Will, narrowing my eyes into slits. “I guess you’re off the hook, Mr. Darcy. Not guilty.”
“No one is completely off the hook, Miss Bennet,” he said, swallowing hard. “Even the best of men will be laughed at by people who see the world as one big joke.”
“There are people with no sense of humor at all,” I replied. “In contrast, I suppose, there are those who joke too much. But it’s perfectly normal to laugh when someone is being ridiculous. Even the great Will Darcy must have character flaws.”
“I do my best to avoid them.”
“Like vanity?” I goaded.
“Maybe.”
“Or pride?”
“No. Not pride.”
“Aha!”
“I’m proud of a lot of things,” he said, straightening in his chair. “My work, my family, my position—lots of things. Pride is definitely not a flaw. It’s a virtue.”
“Are you done with your interrogation?” cried Caroline. “I’m bored.”
“He’s all yours, Caroline. Will has no flaws. He said so himself.”
“I never said that.” His tone was a little too cool for my taste. “I’m just as bad as the next guy.”
This caught my interest more than it should have.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” he croaked, trying to regain his usual composure. “Nobody's perfect.”
“So what’s your defect, then? We’re all dying to know.”
“I’m not,” chirped Jane. I’d almost forgotten she was there. “Dying to know, that is.”
“I’m not either,” said Caroline. She actually pouted at the fizzle the conversation made in turning the focus from her.
“Bing?” I asked. “What about you?”
He just shrugged, but he had a devilish smirk on his cute, little face.
“I have a short temper,” offered Will. “I’ll admit I have little patience for idiots and rude people.”
Rude people? That was ironic!
He went on. “I don’t have time for users or liars. I’m the king of holding grudges. Call me resentful or petty or whatever, but I don’t care. I have strong opinions about people and once they're on my Burnt List, they’re on there forever.”
The whole room fell silent. He was truly a fierce thinker, and I found myself wanting nothing more than to get away from him and his unfair scrutiny.
“Those sure are some heavy defects,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, “But nothing I can laugh at.”
He shrugged and gave me a cool, calculated stare. “We all have our quirks, Elizabeth.”
“Yours is to hate everybody.”
“And yours,” he said, standing to his full height, towering over me, “is to intentionally misunderstand them.”
The earth stood still, and for the length of a thousand heartbeats, all the reality around us fell away. He stood so close to me, my chest was a hair’s breadth away from brushing against his white Fruit of the Loom trailer-tank. His heat and fury bore down on me, and I shrank into myself, flushed from the inferno he diffused from his infuriatingly brawny figure. His entire presence was imposing, invading my senses with whatever scent that was. It was unique to him and mingled provocatively with the minty freshness of his toothpaste. It was intoxicating and swoony. And I knew in that moment, he tried to break me. Oh, he was good. He knew the effect he ha
d on women, and I felt all the weight of his artifice. But I had an advantage over him because I could see right through him. I knew the type. Hunky Hollywood playboy, lots of money, and the power to crush someone’s career with a few carefully spread rumors. I wouldn’t play into his hands. I’d leave that to Caroline.
The piano interrupted our staring contest. Bing played remarkably well, which was a welcome distraction to everyone, but nobody quite as much as Caroline, who dripped her body all over the piano, cabaret style, while she sang song after song like a diva in a speakeasy. Bing seemed to know every song ever composed in the history of musical theatre. He only missed a few notes here or there, but his skill was beyond anyone in the room and probably the whole cast. It was little wonder why Will had taken him under his wing.
I returned to my sewing abomination, and Jane stretched out on the sofa, admiring Bing and his magic fingers fly over the keys. Every so often, I’d glance up and watch her drowsy, contented smiles, and my heart warmed to the sight. She was so smitten with him. I’d only seen her fall for a guy once before. He’d write songs about her and serenaded her with his guitar. What girl wouldn’t go gaga over a guy like that? I was the only one who didn’t trust him, and I almost lost Jane’s friendship when I voiced my concerns. The guy hoodwinked her. Turned out Jane wasn’t his only muse for those beautiful songs and when she found out, she cried on my shoulder and watched Spanish telenovelas for days. I never once said I told you so, and I vowed to keep my opinions about her boyfriends to myself from then on. But Bing was different. I didn’t sense any danger for her where he was concerned.
Will once again took up his pen and journal he so secretly wrote in. Probably writing songs for multiple women. Every so often, I’d catch him glowering at me then turn back to his writing when our eyes met. What could he have been writing, I wondered? Probably one hundred and one ways he hated Beth Bennet. I honestly couldn’t figure out any other reason why he’d glance my way so often. It couldn’t be that he found me at all attractive. I’m a Hobbit—not a tall bombshell like Caroline or a beautiful Swedish goddess like Jane. Still, I was at a loss why someone like him would waste any more energy than necessary in such contempt to warrant the stink eye. I went over our earlier conversation in my memory. He’d looked right at me when he spoke of his impatience with idiots and rude people. Was he referring to me when he told us about his Burnt List? What had I ever done to be on his Burnt List? For the record, I wouldn’t expect anything less crass from Will Darcy.
