by Anne Pfeffer
Meanwhile, Ellen’s mouth had set itself into a thin line. For having only one functional leg, she could still move pretty fast. Within seconds, she was swinging her metal crutch at the bathroom door. WHACK!
“Time’s up, folks!” She whacked the door again.
We, the assembled cast and crew, all waited, trying to contain our laughter only because Ellen seemed to really like wielding that crutch. After a moment, the door shuddered open.
Her head high, a bright patch of red on each cheek, Becca emerged. She had managed to pull her clothes on. Ignoring us, she swept past and headed for an exit.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Ellen asked.
Becca stopped, but refused to turn around. She stood with her back to us, arms crossed over her chest.
“Blake!” Ellen called.
Shirtless, he slouched into the bathroom doorway. His jeans hung off his hips, unbuttoned and only three-quarters zipped. A thin trail of dark hair striped down his belly and disappeared behind his zipper. Had he appeared like that on a billboard, he would have caused traffic accidents. I tried not to stare.
“What?” he said with a sullen smirk.
Ellen’s eyes narrowed. “Work with Pru here on the stage this morning. Learn your lines.”
I could feel her distress about Blake’s behavior and this play she loved so much. I wished I could help her. I went up on stage and settled into one of the beanbag chairs they kept in the wings. Someone had drawn the curtain that separated the stage from the rest of the theater.
“Prudence.” Blake had entered so quietly that I jumped to hear his voice only a few feet away.
He put down a hand and pulled me up, bringing me a lot closer to him than was actually necessary. His eyes swept over me, taking in my Carrie outfit of white Capri pants and a tee-shirt the color of ripe watermelon. “Wow.” He pulled me closer, his eyes searching my face, as if he wanted to kiss me.
I yanked my hand away. The nerve! After just having intercourse with Becca! When Count Blackstone pulled a stunt like that with Fredericka, she had cleaned his clock.
Blake’s eyes widened. Innocent confusion spread across his face. “Aren’t you glad to see me, Prudence?”
“We should get to work.” My nerves tapped a percussion rhythm on my spine. I couldn’t forget that the Andersons, in the name of parental love, were probably at this very moment speeding in my direction, intent on destroying my life. If I had to spend some of what little time I had left with Blake, it could at least be productive. I veered away from him, heading for the two chairs sitting center stage.
“Work, work, work.” Blake followed me, coming to a stop when I did, just an inch away from me. He was smolderingly handsome, still shirtless, his skin glowing under a thin sheen of sweat.
Eyes on the ground, I picked up my script.
He put his fingers around my wrist.
“Don’t!” I pulled away from him again. Looking down, I begged him, “Please, let’s just work. You’re with Becca, not me.”
“I’m not with Becca. But I’ll work with you, Prudence, if you do one thing for me.” Blake’s voice had become gentle, soothing.
“What?”
“Look at me.”
I made a face at him.
“I mean it. You always look down. Look into my eyes.”
He might as well have asked me to strip. The noises that had come from the bathroom, his half-naked body, his spicy cologne—all combined to make me feel overpoweringly shy.
“Put a shirt on first.”
He laughed out loud. “You know why I like you, Pru? You’re so real. You’re the only real person in this whole god-damned city.” He left for a moment, then returned, buttoning a long-sleeved black shirt.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, I raised my eyes and looked into his. They were eerily green, mesmerizing.
“Now,” he said. “I can see into your soul.”
##
Time disappeared as Blake and I sat knee-to-knee on our stools, running lines for two scenes, in which—alone in his cell—Duncan talked to his beloved Julia. In the production, an actress, Liz Shipley, would play the voice of his dead wife from backstage.
“It’s hard to play to a disembodied voice,” Blake told me. “You, Prudence, will be the eyes and body of Julia. I’ll put all my passion for her into you, and take that onstage with me.”
“Okay.” I thought I would faint, and that was before we got to the dialogue.
Julia, Blake said, every night I see your naked skin. I feel your heat. For just a moment, you’re alive again. And I run my lips across…”
He stopped. “Look at me, Pru. Mirror the intensity of Duncan’s emotion.”
I jerked my eyes up to meet his, which scorched into me.
Blake went on. Your breasts, your tongue, are like wine to me. A sweet and fragrant wine. Addictive.
Duncan. I read Julia’s line. Why were you torn from me when I need you so much? I need you close to me, Duncan. I need you inside me…. A coughing fit forced me to stop.
“Not bad,” Blake said. “But next time, really think about the meaning of the words. Feel them.”
“I don’t think I want to.”
He gave me a stern look. “Do you want this scene to work or don’t you?”
Finally, we were done. Blake knew his lines and was ready. He kissed me on the forehead. “You are Duncan’s Julia,” he said, a haunted look passing across his features. “It is your eyes, your hair, your body that he sees in his dreams.”
Exhausted, I still tingled from all the sexy words I’d said and heard. At the same time, a pain that felt like grief tore at me.
Poor Duncan. Poor Julia.
It was so unfair what had happened to them. Feeling as if my heart were being ripped from my chest, I turned blindly toward Blake. He put his arms around me and held me.
In that moment, I knew what was it was like for him to carry this play on his shoulders, where every scene required him to empty himself, to turn his soul inside out. “You’ve got this, Blake,” I told him. “You’re the best.”
“Thanks.” He gave my cheek a gentle kiss.
Weak-kneed, I went in search of Ellen. I had long since stopped listening for her ring tone through the curtain. Would she have interrupted my work with Blake, anyway, if my parents had called? Knowing her intense devotion to the play, probably not.
“Pru!” Ellen’s eyes glowed. “I watched from the wings. You bring something so special out in Blake.” She gave me a quick, hard hug. “I’m so grateful!”
“I didn’t do anything. He directed me.”
“Doesn’t matter. All that matters is his performance.” Ellen clapped her hands in excitement, then reached into her pocket for her vibrating cell phone.
“Hi,” she said in a guarded voice. Then, sounding surprised, “Okay.” She handed me the phone as Blake walked up to stand beside me.
I tensed. Was this my parents? Show down time? “Hello?”
"Pru?"
A big grin flew across my face, and warmth swept my body. “Adam?”
Blake shifted position suddenly, clearing his throat and glowering.
I could almost feel Adam smiling back at me. “Listen,” he said, “I’d like to drink at the wedding on Sunday, and I know a place right down the street from the reception where we could—don’t take this the wrong way—spend the night afterward, but only if you’re okay with it. So I don’t have to drive.”
“Spend the night? What is this place?”
Blake moved in closer, obviously listening, and even Ellen looked up from her clipboard, one ear cocked in my direction.
“It’s my house. Didn’t Ellen tell you?”
“No.” I was torn between hearing about his house and going back to the part about spending the night.
“I’m almost done remodeling my house in Malibu. I’m just living in that apartment temporarily. The house isn’t furnished yet or anything.” Adam stopped. “Pru? You there?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, good. So, I thought we might go there with our sleeping bags and crash. You can have your own bedroom for privacy. And we could go to the beach the next morning. It’s really nice when….”
“Yes.”
“Yes … what?”
Right now, for a brief moment, my life was rich and fun and full of possibilities. I was going to milk it for all I could get before the jail door slammed shut again. “Yes, I’ll do it.”
I almost said, And no need for privacy, but I contained myself.
After Adam hung up, I asked Ellen, “Any other calls for me?”
“A message from your parents. I haven’t listened to it.” Apologetically, Ellen found the message for me. “I didn’t hear it come in, and then you were working so well with Blake...”
“It’s okay.”
I walked over to a quiet corner, one finger in my ear. The message was from an hour ago. It was Lloyd, speaking in his clipped, precise way. He never wasted a word, but my mind filled in what was unsaid. “Prudence. We are on the road to Los Angeles,” forced to do so by our understandable concern over your safety, when it turns out you were simply being thoughtless and irresponsible. “We received your messages, but we thought we might as well make the trip.” A mere sixteen hours of driving, but worth it because it’s high time to come whip some sense into you. “We’ll arrive tomorrow morning and spend the weekend with you.”
The weekend! Ellen was counting on me to help with Blake tomorrow. And Sunday I was counting on my date with Adam. If my folks knew I had plans that included: 1) a man, 2) alcoholic refreshments, and 3) an overnight stay in the man’s house, they would forcibly escort me back to Clayton and lock me in the basement for the rest of time.
Dr. Abbot’s voice came into my head, reassuring me. You’re an adult, Pru. The only power they have over you is what you give them.
He made it sound so simple.
I plucked up my courage and called my dad’s cell.
His voice crackled and broke over the bad connection. “Prudence, where are you?”
“In LA. Where I live.”
“You know what I mean. Why didn’t you call us yesterday?”
“I forgot, I’m sorry.” I rushed to speak before he could interrupt me. “About the message you left, I won’t be available for the next few days,” I said carefully. “I have work and social engagements.” I heard Phyllis’s voice in the background. Then, as my dad turned on the speaker phone, she came in loud and clear. “We were counting on seeing your apartment!”
“Well, there’s been a change there. I have a roommate now!” I chirped. “It just happened.”
“You have a roommate?” Mom paused, apparently too astonished at first to speak. “How are you going to deal with a roommate? You need to have flexibility for that! And social skills!”
Grrr. I wanted to growl and snap at her. “And I don’t?”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“What did you mean?”
“Stop it, you two.” Lloyd spoke like the commander-in-chief he was, certain of obedience.
“And what kind of job did you get?” my mom asked.
“I am the Assistant Director of a theatrical production called The Prisoner,” I replied rather grandly.
Apparently dumbfounded, they were silent. I had to get them to turn around. I calculated rapidly. “You’re still fifteen hours away from LA. Why don’t you go back and come another time?”
“But we’ve already driven more than an hour!” Mom’s voice was a wail.
“I’m sorry, Mom. You should’ve checked with me before you left.”
As usual, Lloyd decided. “Phyllis, we’ve wasted enough time already. Let’s turn back.”
“That’s a great idea.” I tried to make it sound like it was his. “You can come… for the holidays! We’ll plan the whole thing.”
“Pru, I worry that you’re in over your head. Remember, honey…”
My mom could go on for a long time on the subject of my total inability to cope with anything. I cut her off. “I’m fine, I promise. But I’m working. I really have to go.”
“Sweetheart…”
I had a sinking feeling. “Really. It’s all good here. Go home and I’ll talk to you soon.”
“I don’t feel right about….”
“I’ll be fine.”
“But…”
I tried to keep the desperation from my voice.“Another time, okay?”
Finally, “I guess we won’t see you then.” My mother still sounded unconvinced, but my dad in the background was saying, “I’ll take this exit.”
I hung up in a daze of relief.
I’d done it. I had averted a disaster.
I went to find Ellen, thinking it was really going to happen. In two days, I, Prudence Anderson, would go on my first date ever. I would wear high heels, drink champagne, and eat little hors d’oeuvres with fancy toothpicks. I would ride in a silver convertible, driven by my very own possible Prince Charming.
It might be the only date I ever went on, but finally, this Cinderella was going to the ball.
Chapter Sixteen
From Pru’s Journal:
I used to want to have my breasts reduced. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing good about big boobs. They looked bulky in my favorite flannel shirts and overalls and attracted creepy guys. But lately I’ve noticed that nice men like big boobs, too. Adam’s always polite and respectful, but still. I’m almost positive he likes my boobs.
##
The next morning, Ellen and I loaded my car and took off for the theater. Inside, I was happily plotting how to get some shoes to go with the green dress for tomorrow’s date. What a relief to know that my folks had gone back to Clayton. Still, I wished I hadn’t told Lloyd and Phyllis the name of Ellen’s play. My dad, in particular, always found creative ways to use information against me. I pushed aside a prickle of worry.
I found Blake in the wings backstage. I hoped yesterday’s break-through with him would make today’s work easier. In the scene, Duncan was to hang himself, then be discovered and saved by a guard. The rope used would be attached to a safety harness that Blake wore under his clothes. A noose, artfully arranged around his neck, made it look like a real hanging.
Ellen had described the scene to me. There were really two of them. First, an initial startling moment where the audience saw a dark stage, then a single spotlight focused on a figure that had just fallen and now swung at the end of a rope, some ten feet above the stage floor.
Then, after a few seconds of darkness, a light would reveal Blake now hanging in his prison cell, closer to the ground, and a guard entering and cutting him down.
“Why’s he so high up in the first part?” I’d asked.
“It’s a very dramatic symbolic moment. Duncan is literally suspended between life and death. In those few seconds, everything crystallizes for him, and he makes the fundamental choice to live.” Ellen was entering her evangelical mode again, her cheeks burning and her voice rising.
“How can someone make the choice to live after he hangs himself?”
Ellen’s face was very serious. “It’s never too late to make choices and change.”
“Well, I know in this case Duncan is saved, but in general if someone decides to live after he’s actually hung himself ...”
“The point is, when Duncan made his decision to live, he was saved!”
“What if he wasn’t? What if the guard hadn’t come in?”
Ellen gave me a stern look. “You’re taking this very literally, Pru. But let’s see… if the guard hadn’t come in, I’d like to think it still wasn’t too late for his soul, you know? I mean, yes, his body would die, but his soul would change and go on to the next life in a different form.” The hanging scene, she told me, was her favorite one in the whole play.
I left thinking Ellen made things really complicated sometimes. I found Blake sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, his face
hidden in his arms. For the first time ever, I felt comfortable approaching him. He looked up, his expression so anguished that I immediately dropped down beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“This scene is what’s wrong. It’s fucked up,” he said. His fingers tore at a playbill as he talked.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s too explicit. Why do I have to actually hang from a rope in front of the audience? Why not just indicate what’s happening? Why not hang a silhouette behind a screen?” Blake spoke rapidly, while his hands wadded up the shreds of the playbill, then pulled them apart.
I’d never seen him so agitated. “Ellen doesn’t candy-coat things for audiences. She has too much respect for them.”
“Yeah, well, how about a little respect for her actors? Hanging from a rope….” Blake took on that anguished face again. I’d seen that pain before, out in the alley, when we talked about Duncan wanting to die.
“You knew this when you took the job.” I tried to say it softly, so it didn’t come out like an accusation.
He just muttered something under his breath.
“What’s wrong, Blake?”
He shook his head.
I wondered what he wasn’t telling me. I remembered how down he’d been on Duncan for wanting to kill himself. Maybe he still felt that way a little.
Or maybe he was just scared of getting hurt. I had an idea. “Wait here.”
##
As I went off in search of Storm, our costume designer, my mind returned to my parents. Last night I’d listed getting a cell phone as a goal for this weekend, but when? Between driving Ellen, working with Blake, and my date with Adam, I was booked. As incredible as it seemed, our opening night was on Tuesday, only three days away.
Your folks don’t get to run your life. Remain strong. I would explain to the rents again that I couldn’t speak with them every day, and I would get a phone as soon as I could.
I found Storm in her “studio,” a card table in the corner with a sewing machine on it.
“Blake’s upset about the hanging scene,” I said. “I want to show him the harness he’s going to wear. Show him how safe it is.”
