by Amy Lignor
I pulled the car into the circular drive decorated with weeds growing in wild abandon and got out, going over to Beth's door and taking her hand. Her eyes absolutely gleamed when she looked up at the building. They were alive, filled with the same excitement as if we'd just exited a limo in front of Lincoln Center to see the Broadway show that everyone in New York was talking about. Beth stared at that decaying sight, and I knew she was seeing it during its heyday. She saw a place in her imagination that'd once taken her breath away.
Leading me across the parking lot, I carried the six-pack and suddenly felt like those teenagers who were about to have a good time on a night filled with nothing but hope and promise.
Beth led me up the back steps to an old deck that jutted out behind the building. Taking small, careful steps, Beth lifted up tarps and old yellowed sheets, every once in a while sending out a gasp when she saw something she apparently remembered from long ago. She would hoist it in the air, something that to the naked eye was nothing more than a painted picture frame or a broken mirror, and give it a loving look. I tried to imagine what scene it'd been in, what play was racing through her mind when that one piece had decorated the stage.
I followed the form; her jeans and jacket were now absolutely covered with the dirt and dust all around us that'd lain undisturbed for years. Around the corner she disappeared and I had to race to follow her, tripping over oddly-shaped wood structures that were covered in faded wallpaper—pieces that'd once represented a sitting room in some southern parlor, or decorated a famous palace in Siam. I spied a weathered plastic lei that was perhaps worn around a lovely neck as the overture to South Pacific began to play.
It was so unbelievably dark that I panicked slightly when I couldn't find where Beth had gone.
"In here."
The lilting voice emanated from my right. Carefully I pushed my body through the slightly broken door and followed her into the darkness.
A strand of colored lights suddenly beamed from above, wrapped around the catwalk as if someone had celebrated their very own Christmas party inside the old tomb. I looked around, seeing the tears and holes in the blue velvet curtains that sagged so badly, it looked like very soon their weight would pull the whole roof down once and for all.
I stared at the stage I was standing on and was actually amazed. Moving my feet around in the dust I was in awe that underneath, somehow, a high polish from years of work, love and attention was still there making the small Sharon stage shine.
I shielded my eyes from the glare of lights now coming from the front of the House, and saw her. Beth had run up the aisle and provided me with a beacon so I wouldn't fall down while making my way.
The center row and side aisles had been covered with linens now bathed in the refuse of time and neglect. But even I could see the charm that once was. I spotted the cast iron claw feet coming out from under the sheets in the front row, exposing a royal blue velvet cushion that once served the artistic crowd of the small community.
Standing up in the back, Beth smiled at me. "You were made to be on stage, sir. You would've had this Sharon audience groveling."
I laughed, setting the beer down and doing my best moves for her as she clapped and cheered.
I felt that little tug inside me. Whenever I stepped on stage I tended to transform. I loved the lights, the music—the anticipation that comes from the audience like a wave of excitement. Suddenly, my voice came out loud and clear, so that my very special audience of one could hear every word of the romantic song I was singing just for her. But when it came time to dance some more, I pointed at the back row.
"I don't like solo numbers. I like dancing with a partner."
Her sweet laughter echoed in the emptiness. "You don't want me stepping on your toes. Besides, you're the star. It's you I paid to see."
"Please?" The word came out quiet but clear. I'd never wanted a woman in my arms so badly.
I saw Beth think for a second. That's one of the many traits I'd fallen for over the past few days. She always took a moment, as if weighing the situation. Soon, she began to walk toward the stage and I met her at the steps. Holding out a hand, I pulled Beth into my arms, whispering the only song I could think of into her ear.
I pulled her close and we danced. First softly, quietly, swaying from side to side, and then into a ballroom dance that offered her absolutely no escape as I whisked her around the floor.
She flew, she laughed, she was the perfect partner because her moves were soft and fluid, and I felt that all we were lacking was the tuxedo and gown in order to make the picture complete.
When my song ended, Beth once again began to study my face, as if searching for something that was still a mystery.
Letting go of my hands, Beth sat down on the stage and stretched her legs out in front of her.
Taking my place, I offered her a beer and tried to catch my breath. "This is not from the dance, mind you," I said with a smile. "Just from the beauty of my partner."
Questions raced through my mind. I had to know her. It was as simple as that. She was like some unknown drug to me, where when she opened one door and gave me a peek inside I immediately had to have another shot as fast as possible in order to sustain my addiction. "Is it real?"
The stunning profile turned. "What?"
"Your play, Father. Is it real?"
Taking a deep breath, she looked out at the mystical audience that'd gone home long ago. "All writing is real. I mean, I'm sure it's just like being an actor." She turned her gaze back to me. "I would think that some of what you put into your characters must be real—must come from you—or people would know you're just reading lines."
I nodded. "So all your characters are real?"
Beth shook her head. "They're fictional stories, Matt. But there are certain characters that are always based on someone, or a combination of people I've met along the way. It's only the female lead, so to speak, who has to be a great deal like me, otherwise I would have no idea what was inside her mind."
"And the men?"
She shrugged. "What I want them to be, I suppose. But there's also reality in them. I mean, you meet people every day. You study their traits, their feelings, how they speak, what they say—I'm constantly watching and absorbing all that, so it comes out in the writing."
"Is that why you study me all the time?"
"Actually, no."
"Then why?"
"I just really like looking at you."
A shot of adrenaline raced through my chest as Beth looked at the two small chairs sitting on the aisle in the front row. "Father was very close to my heart. This place actually had a lot to do with it."
I thought back on the material. "Did you…have an abortion when you were young like the woman he lost his heart to?"
She shook her head. "No. Like I said, every situation is different."
I should've stopped talking, but I had to know. "What happened?"
Beth offered me a smile. "Everyone has their own 'Jack and Diane' story, remember? Maybe not in the heartland, but somewhere along the way."
"First love?"
"Only one." She nodded.
My heart leapt, thrilled with the fact that there was no one besides a high school sweetheart that'd earned a place in her memory. "Just the one?
"Probably really odd for such a Hollywood stud like yourself to hear," she said, laughing.
I so wanted to correct the impression she had of me, but she continued, "We met at fifteen. He was a bud I hung out with. We grew older and things changed. It was really quite simple. We didn't go to the same high school and didn't have the same background at all. I suppose you could say he was from the 'wrong side of the tracks,' but a very kind heart was hidden under all that bravado. When we were alone, away from the world that gives you the mask you're assigned to wear, he was…sweet."
I raised an eyebrow. "Handsome?"
Her gaze went back to the two chairs. "It was the late eighties, I was totally stuck on John Hughes movie
s, and he looked like Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club. Need I say more?"
The laughter came from my soul. "Yeah, I blame that time period for a lot."
Beth slapped my knee. "Right? Damn those people. I blame Heavy Metal hair bands for this," she added, fluffing her amazing head of hair.
Taking off her leather coat, Beth pulled down the shoulder of her shirt. I wondered somewhere in my mind if I was being offered a taste of what I was craving every second of the day. But then I saw the small writing and leaned in. "A tattoo? What does Crue mean?"
"That was my nickname in school. Motley Crue was my favorite band."
"Very cool." I offered a sly grin. "Any others hidden away?"
She just smiled.
A lightning bolt felt as if it ricocheted inside me as I found myself wondering what else could be found on that stunning body if years of private study were offered to me. I swallowed hard. "You wanna know what I got from the eighties?"
"Absolutely."
Immediately I began to bring forth the rapper buried deep inside me, as I gave Beth a show of my best pop and lock, breakdancing moves ever created.
Beth clapped and screamed when the performance was over.
Sitting back down beside her, I felt the 'older' bones and muscles remind me that I wasn't eighteen anymore.
"Nice," Beth said. "See? We're both cool."
"The masks we wore?"
She slapped me on the chest. "Heck, no! James Dean was my idol. We could've hung out together." Leaning in fast, she kissed my cheek; too fast for me to move my neck and capture those amazing lips, which was all I wanted to do. "I still am cool, sweetheart." She winked.
"So…you were in love in a small town. And?"
Without a second thought, she continued, "I got pregnant. It wasn't one of those high school things. I was twenty, in fact, before I'd let him in.
"Made him suffer, huh?" I couldn't believe how open she was being, but part of me was waiting for the tragedy that I knew had to have come along.
"I think you've already come to the conclusion that 'easy' isn't one of my traits."
I sighed. "Don't I know it."
"Hey, mister! I'm a lady," she reprimanded me in a sweet voice.
I took the soft hand as it came at my chest and this time held on. I brushed my thumb against the silky skin and moved my gaze back to her face. "What happened? Adoption?"
She sighed. "No. I was going to be a Mom. But I was looking at it in a way different light than he was."
I waited.
"I looked at it like he and I would become a family, hit the road, see the world and never miss a moment of life. We'd get out of here and live our dreams and get what we wanted. The child was just an added bonus. I know, I was beyond naive."
She sat in silence as I held on to her hand, wondering why that young boy had been given the right to hold this incredible woman in his arms.
"He quit high school, got a job, and wanted to provide for us by staying here." Her voice grew lower, "That's when I got sick. I was only about a month along when I was taken to the hospital one night. I'd gotten the flu and ended up having a miscarriage."
"I'm sorry."
She shook her head. "It's fine. It wasn't the right time."
"What happened to him?"
She smiled as she stared out at the two chairs that seemed to hold a memory I sorely wanted to hear. "He wanted to…play through. He wanted us to marry, live here, and keep the same plan. To him, it was the life he wanted, but it was too late for me." Her deep brown eyes caught mine in their powerful grasp. "I had been here."
I knew she meant the building we were sitting in—the beauty that was once paradise to a young girl in a small town.
Beth nodded, knowing I understood. "Here is where I watched life come alive. The actors, singers, dancers, stories—they were exciting and vibrant, a world that up until then had never existed in this one-horse town.
"Actors must surround you all the time here."
"I met Paul Newman a few times at the racetrack. He ran his cars here, and he was really the nicest most elegant man you'd ever want to meet."
I smiled. "I always wanted to meet him."
"Oh, he was incredible," Beth said. "Funny, liked everyone—but when he opened his mouth to give advice, say hello, or just be nice, that voice held such wisdom that he was always so much fun to talk to."
"I'd say you were lucky. You weren't sitting in a cornfield somewhere. New York is just an hour away."
Beth nodded. "I know. But something else had grabbed me and took hold. I'm not like you, Matt. I wanted to see it all, not just Broadway. I didn't have a focus on one specific place, I wanted the whole world."
Her voice was distant, almost as if she was back in the day waiting to fly. "I got in a car, took off, and hit highways, back roads, byways—you name it, I drove them. I met everyone from shopkeepers to kids to schoolteachers to bums, military men, nuns; I heard all the stories, saw tons of sites and wrote everything I could down. I have so many boxes of journals I could probably fill the NYPL's basement with the stuff."
Suddenly Beth's voice grew almost reverent, as if being respectful to the ghosts in her head. "I wanted everyone to know these people and hear their stories. Especially my favorites. There were some that were so kind. Like when the car broke down, or I got lost on a butte in Utah with no hope of finding my way back, I met truly kind people who would pull over and help me."
Keeping her hand I leaned in, absolutely mesmerized by her words. "Who were your other favorites?"
"The veterans I was always privileged enough to sit beside in the VFW halls. Man, the stories they had, Matt. They'd lived through pain, drama, war, death and still maintained that honesty, loyalty and love of country." She turned to me. "People still have that, you know. I know it doesn't seem like it sometimes with all the ridiculous crap they're always spouting on T.V. to make us feel hideous 24/7, but there is still faith."
I cleared my throat, knowing that the warm feeling spreading through me only came around once in a lifetime, if you were lucky. "Whatever happened to your first love?"
She sighed. "Gosh, I think he got married but he didn't stay here. After I left, I never came back."
I looked over at the set of chairs. "What does this place have to do with him?"
"This is where I had the best date of my entire life. He dropped the 'bad boy' shtick for the night, got dressed in a suit and walked with me through these doors. I had the night off and we came to see Little Shop of Horrors, believe it or not.
"Feed me!"
She smiled. "Exactly. I watched every moment on this stage. I was enthralled, as always, with the lights and the sounds and the actors giving it their all. I looked over a couple of times to see if he was enjoying himself, but he was always looking at me."
"Can't blame the guy," I mumbled.
I caught her blush, as she turned away and reached for another beer. "I asked him afterward what he thought about the play and he said he hadn't seen it. He'd only seen me."
"Again, the guy knew what he was saying."
Shaking her head, Beth made the auburn waves fall in front of her face, like a teenager who wanted to hide from my attention.
"Any regrets?"
"No. Wrong guy, wrong location—the baby wouldn't have been happy if the parents weren't—so it was all for the best."
"And, Father?"
"Youth is wasted on the young. Heck, we barely know anything when we're adults. But when it comes to kids, I suppose when you hit the mighty thirty or forty, you have to sit back and wonder. If that was your only shot at a family, would you have done it differently? Chosen a different road?"
I sat up straight and leaned toward her. "Why would that be your only shot at motherhood?"
She shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe it was. If I'd stayed here, stayed with him, maybe we would've had a family. But not now."
I immediately turned her to face me. "Are you kidding? You have to be a Mom."
; Beth laughed. "I'd suck at it, trust me. I'm too wrapped up in myself to ever be any good for a kid."
"Wrapped up in yourself? Are you kidding?" I shook my head because I really, no matter how much I tried, just couldn't understand why such an intelligent woman seemed to know absolutely nothing about the appeal she owned a thousand-fold.
"Besides," she continued before I could speak, "single parenting is awesome. I've met so many single parents out there who are strong, loving, with fantastic kids—but being from the family I'm from and the marriages I was privy to, I would want a child to have both sides of the equation, you know?" She laughed. "Although, I am kind of a puzzle, because I just don't have that inner Bridezilla. I think, in the end, I would probably want motherhood way more than marriage. I may just be the black sheep of my family. I'd probably be a horrific wife."
"What?" I couldn't help the sarcastic tone running through my voice.
She pulled her hand from my body. Twirling around Beth stood up, dusting the dirt and grime from her jeans.
I quickly stood in front of her.
"What?" she asked, staring at what had to be a very confused face. "What's the matter?"
"I think you're crazy."
"Oh, really?" Beth tilted her head to the side. "Do you want to be a father, Matt?"
"Someday, yes."
She giggled. "And what if you found yourself in a situation where 'someday' came a whole hell of a lot sooner than you wanted it to?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I don't have to face that."
"I said if," Beth replied. "Would you want to be stuck in something simply because you're a good man and a baby was coming? Or, would you hate your life knowing that maybe your dreams would have to play second fiddle to a wife and child you didn't even want?"
I remained quiet. "That's way too big of a decision, or a 'what if?' to just answer. You would just…cross that bridge if and when you came to it."
She patted me on the shoulder. "It's okay. Really. Its okay to not want children until 'someday' appears. You have a master plan. I was just wondering how you'd feel about it."
