Stage Fright (Bit Parts)

by Scott, Michelle

  To my relief, she relaxed the tiniest bit. “You wouldn’t be the first one to criticize it.”

  “Tom Wiggins didn’t like it either?”

  “Wiggins.” She sniffed. “That critic wouldn’t know a work of art if it pissed on his foot.”

  The surprise of her crude language drew a nervous giggle out of me. Hedda relaxed a little more. “No, it wasn’t only Wiggins who panned it. My ex-husband was equally displeased.” She shook her head sadly. “I wrote that play from my heart, but he called it a public humiliation.” Then the fire in her eyes rekindled, and she tilted her chin. “I don’t care. Sometimes, stories need to be told. Even if the truth hurts.”

  Despite its wacky name, I suddenly wished I’d seen The Scent of Ketchup. If it had the power to get someone so angry, it must have had some redeeming qualities. I wondered if it was possible to still get ahold of a script.

  “Anyway, to answer your question, yes, I do stage experimental theater. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but at least it takes risks! I’m sick of plays that spoon-feed their audiences! Enough with the Broadway musicals about superheroes and TV shows.” She sagged the tiniest bit. “I’d give anything to discover the next Beckett or Ionesco. Or even the next Neil Simon. Just someone with a little talent.”

  Victor’s name was on my lips, but I sealed them before it could fly out. The last person I wanted Hedda to remember right now was the vampire she was trying so desperately to please. I didn’t want her handing me over to him like a welcome-to-the-neighborhood cake.

  She patted my hand. “I have really enjoyed our little chat. You have no idea how happy I am to find a young person so passionate about theater. You give me hope for the future.”

  I returned her smile. I’d never expected to find a kindred spirit with a vampire. “I’m so grateful that you keep the Bleak Street’s doors open.”

  “I intend to keep them open for as long as I can.” Her eyes clouded. “Although that may prove difficult given Victor’s visit.”

  “He seems to think it’s a waste of money.” I shrugged. “Which is strange since he’s a playwright.”

  She arched a perfect eyebrow. “True, he once wrote a play, but since then, his interests have changed. Now, his concerns are strictly financial. His and my ex-husband’s both. The two of them working together are a formidable force. Anyway,” she continued, becoming brisk, “Victor is quite taken with you. He told me that you’ve regained your shine.” She tilted her head, examining me. “Although, I admit I don’t see it.”

  In the wake of my fainting spell, all of the energy I’d siphoned from the Bleak Street’s crystal had drained away. I counted that as a good thing. The less brilliant I was around the vampires, the better.

  Hedda waited a moment before saying, “In any case, Victor is determined to have you. Now, you have a choice to make.”

  The smile dropped from my lips. The connection I’d felt with Hedda vanished. She was a bloodthirsty, soul-sucking vampire. I couldn’t allow myself to forget that. “Either I do what he says, or you’ll turn me into a rogue?” I hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but the words slipped out.

  “Of course not! Victor and I are both very civilized.” Her voice softened. “But I understand why you’re suspicious. You were hurt by one of our kind, weren’t you?”

  “Two of your kind, actually. I was attacked at the Cipher Theatre.”

  Her eyes briefly glowed red before returning to violet. “I’m truly sorry, but rest assured, your attackers were punished. No one within the boundaries of my grieve feeds without permission.”

  What about Marcella, I wondered sourly. “I can’t imagine why anyone would willingly allow a vampire to…you know.” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that thought.

  “Feed on you?” Her eyes glittered. “My dear, the act between me and my beloved blood partners is a far cry from what happened to you. It’s the difference between being raped and making love. The act may be the same, but the intent is not.”

  I squirmed as I envisioned Hedda feeding from her cadre of artists. I didn’t care if it was pleasurable; I’d never permit it.

  “Did Victor explain what he would give you in return for your shine?” Hedda asked.

  I flushed. “I fainted before we got to that part.” After Isaiah had helped me unlock the door in my mind, I’d promised myself that I’d never faint in fear again. Yet a single touch from a vampire had dropped me. If Isaiah found out, he’d regret ever calling me brave. “It doesn’t matter, though; I’m not interested.” I searched the blue draperies wondering which one hid the exit. The sooner I left, the better.

  “Victor intends to make you the director of his new play.”

  I started to protest that directing was Charles’s job then remembered the terrifying scene in the theater. Of course Charles had been fired. He was lucky to leave Mercury Hall with his neck intact.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m still not interested.” My legs were tense, ready to spring out the door. If only I could find it!

  “The director’s job isn’t the only thing Victor can give you.” Hedda reminded me of an overeager realtor trying to close a deal. “He could put you on the stage in any city you wish. New York. London. What would you like, Cassandra?”

  “Nothing,” I said firmly.

  If she was impatient, she didn’t show it. She glanced at herself in the mirror above the bar. To my surprise, her reflection was as strong as mine. She pursed her lips in a pretty pout and swept her dark hair over her shoulder. Her violet eyes met mine. “How old do I look?”

  Gulp. Talk about being on dangerous ground. Since being candid had made her angry before, I shaved ten years off my real guess. “Twenty-five?”

  Her eyes narrowed as if she knew I was lying. “Most will say thirty-five, but thank you. At any rate, in reality, I’m over three hundred. In that time, I watched Sarah Bernhardt perform at the Theatre de la Ville. I looked over the shoulders of Chekov and Wilde as they penned their masterpieces. I saw the very first production of The Glass Menagerie.”

  I was honestly impressed. “That’s amazing!”

  “Vampires remain ageless forever, of course, but a vampire’s kiss could keep you young and beautiful for a very long time.”

  Eternal youth without becoming a vampire. With it, I could always play the ingénue. Aging, the actress’s curse, would never touch me. It was a prize that most actresses would kill for.

  Hedda’s eyes brightened. She knew she’d finally touched a nerve. “My blood partners benefit every time I feed from them.”

  Her blood partners? I blinked, suddenly free from the beautiful web of lies she’d been spinning. “What about Charles or Martin? No offense, but neither of them is young.” Or attractive.

  Realizing her mistake, Hedda hissed. Immediately, she slipped the warm smile back on her face. “Charles would have died of lung cancer or cirrhosis of the liver years ago if I hadn’t prevented it. Martin is a diabetic who’s never relied on insulin.”

  Okay, so she was half lying. She’d prolonged their lives, but not their youth or their looks. Then I frowned, remembering Luquin Astor. The man had looked like death on two legs. Suddenly, my eyes widened. He’d aged, but not because Hedda had been drinking his blood. “I’d like to keep my soul, thank you very much.”

  Hedda’s eyes glowed red.

  I hopped off the barstool, hoping to find the door before she stopped me. “I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I can’t go through with it.”

  “Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

  “No.”

  She eyed me coldly. “I’m deeply disappointed, but I will hold to the rules of my grieve. And I’ll make sure that Victor respects your wishes as well.” She crossed the room and held aside the curtain that had been hiding the door.

  I hurried past her, hoping Victor’s moral convictions were as strong hers.

  Victor waited on the other side of the door. Seeing me, he licked his lips. “Well
?”

  “Well, nothing.”

  We stood in a cramped, dank space that smelled of damp newspapers. Naked light bulbs cast weak light and created dark shadows. Rows of shelves stacked with worn cardboard boxes formed a claustrophobic hallway. At the end of the aisle, a set of wooden stairs led to a battered door. And freedom.

  “Won’t you at least consider it?” he begged. “Please.” He reached out to touch my face.

  Slapping his hand was like striking a brick wall, and I yelped in pain. He grabbed my injured hand and pressed it to his waxy lips.

  “Don’t touch me!” My face burned, and my body trembled. I hated him. And his stupid pirate clothes. And Charles for dragging me into the middle of this mess. And the Bleak Street. And the Cipher, too. My anger made me stronger, but reckless. Ignoring the rational voice in my head, I lifted my chin, purposely baring my neck. “I don’t care how long you keep me down here, I’ll never be your blood partner!”

  I braced myself, expecting to feel his fangs at my neck. To my surprise, he backed away. “As you wish,” he said softly.

  I lowered my chin. “Really?”

  “Not every human wants what we have to offer.” He kept his eyes on the ground. With his drooping spine and his hands shoved into his pockets, he looked exactly like a jilted lover. “Having you offer yourself willingly will be much sweeter than forcing myself on you.”

  Will be? “Don’t get your hopes up,” I snapped.

  I tried to step around him, but he blocked me in. “I should glamour you into forgetting all of this…” his eyes brushed mine, making me shiver “…but I can’t bear to have you forget who I am.” A touch of humor entered his features. “If I have your word that you won’t tell a soul, I’ll let you keep your memory.”

  I swallowed and nodded. “I promise.”

  “Good.” At last he stepped aside, and with a wave of his hand, indicated the steps leading to the main floor. I hurried past him, terrified that this was a trick and that he’d grab me from behind.

  When my foot touched the first stair, he called my name. I hesitated.

  “Will you at least stay on as the director for 16 Voices?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Not even if I promise not to touch you?”

  I bit my lip, tempted for a moment, then shook my head. “No.”

  “It’s a shame. Your direction would have made it topnotch.”

  My fingers curled around the handrail. I’d promised Isaiah and Perry that I would be their spy, and I didn’t want to disappoint them. Especially not Isaiah. Although I’d have to face Victor’s hunger every time I was in the theater, I might find out who was creating the rogues and put a stop to it. Then there was the play. I’d grown to love it, and couldn’t bear to give it up now. “Do you promise that I wouldn’t have to be your blood partner?”

  “Of course,” he said quickly.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  A smile touched his lips. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  I hurried up the stairs before he could change his mind and keep me locked in the basement.

  I searched the theater for my coat and purse, but only found the 16 Voices script on the floor near the broken table. Before I could grow frantic, Martin came in from the lobby carrying my things. “Looking for these?”

  “Yes!” I snatched them out of his hands.

  “So I guess you’ll be leaving for New York soon.”

  “No.”

  He blinked. “You’re turning down Victor Stuyvesant?”

  “Of the New York Stuyvesants.” I couldn’t prevent the eye roll. “Yeah, I get it.”

  “I don’t think you do.” He looked at me from over the top of his round glasses. “I’ve been in Hedda’s service for over thirty years. She takes good care of me. When Anton, the vampire at Mercury Hall before Marcella, decided to move south and join the Charbonneaus, he tried to force me to come along. But Hedda wouldn’t allow it. She said that I stayed with the Widderstroms. So Anton left me alone, and I ended up with Marcella.” He puffed out his chest a little. “I belong to Hedda. Not to anyone else.”

  He sounded like working for Hedda was the same thing as belonging to an exclusive country club, but to me, it sounded more like he was a company car or a key to the executive bathroom. A fringe benefit.

  “No, you couldn’t do better than the Stuyvesants,” Martin said. “And an aspiring actress couldn’t do better than New York City. I’m sure you’ve dreamed of appearing on Broadway.”

  I had, of course, but only if I could do it on my own. “I won’t be anyone’s blood partner. I don’t need a vampire to make me successful.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Of course you don’t. Because you’re the most talented actress in the country. I’m sure you get a thousand e-mails a day offering you parts.”

  My face burned. Detroit was hardly a theater hotspot, so the opportunities to appear onstage were very few. Between my role in King Lear and my fateful Cipher audition, I hadn’t had a single callback. Even the auditions were limited. If I took a chance and went to New York, something I both longed for and dreaded, there were be more openings but also a lot more competition.

  Martin ran his fingers through his bushy, white beard. “Do you know what I did before I met Hedda Widderstrom? I was a music teacher! For ten bucks an hour, I’d give any brat a guitar lesson.”

  I shoved my arms into the sleeves of my coat. “So instead of trying to start your own band, you took the easy way out and partnered with a vampire.” I marched through the house doors and into the lobby

  He followed me. “I did try to make it on my own! I wrote songs and made demos. I even moved to the west coast to connect with other musicians. Nothing happened until I met Hedda. She’s the one who opened doors for me.”

  I whirled to face him, tired of the excuses. “You traded your soul to be in a band I can’t even remember the name of.”

  “Watch your mouth,” he said sharply. “Cosmic Dream charted two albums in the 60’s. I was nominated for a Grammy and inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.”

  As much as I tried, I couldn’t remember any of the songs his band had played. I doubted if even my parents would recall them. As far as modern music was concerned, Martin’s career was as washed out as the tie-dye t-shirt he was wearing. “Was it worth it?” I asked.

  He glared at me. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Well, when you’re forty-three and still trying to make a name for yourself, see if you ask that question. There comes a point in your life when you’ll be grateful for any opportunity you’re given.”

  “Not me.”

  He folded his arms over his stomach. “You’re too young to understand this, but everyone gives their soul away.” He nodded at the glass doors beyond which pedestrians hurried down the sidewalk, their heads bent against the wind. “Most of them do it for the crappy American Dream. They trade their passion for a steady job that lets them get high from shopping a sale at Wal-Mart and driving a shiny, new SUV to their mcMansions in the burbs.” Spots of color bloomed in his chubby cheeks.

  “That’s not for me,” I argued.

  He shook his head, bitterly amused. “Such a passionate idealist! I guess you can afford to be since you’re still young and talented. But in a dozen years, that fire in your heart will burn out. At thirty, you’ll be married, or you’ll be on your fourth lover, or you’ll be all alone with your sixteen cats. When you turn forty, you’ll wonder when you settled for mediocre. At fifty, you’ll try to recapture your youth by directing community theater. By sixty, you’ll be drinking yourself into an early grave to get over the pain of your lost dreams.”

  Angrily, I said, “You think you can predict my future?”

  He laughed. “Okay, prove me wrong! Pack your bags and head to New York. Just you against the thousands of other young actresses all desperate to make it on Broadway. Then what? You’ll sleep wi
th a director in order to land a part? You’ll claw your way to the top for ten minutes of fame? Believe me, everyone sells out if the price is right.” He smirked. “At least, the smart ones do.”

  Deep inside, I felt a pang at the truth. Not that I’d admit it. “I’m still not willing to be a vampire’s dinner.”

  “Take it from someone who’s been where you are now. Victor’s your ticket to success. Don’t throw that away.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” I said sourly.

  He dismissed me with a wave of his hand and a noise of disgust before disappearing back into the theater.

  Andrew came through the front doors carrying a pair of coffee containers. “Here,” he said, handing me one. “Hurry and drink it while it’s still lukewarm.”

  I sipped the coffee as I hustled him outside. “It’s stone cold! How long ago did you buy this?” As I threw the coffee into a trash bin, I noticed the paper bag tucked under his arm. “Let me guess, the coffee shop was next to a comic book store?” No wonder he’d been so eager to fetch my espresso.

  He smiled guiltily. “I bought the coffee after I went to the comic store, but before I met Charles in the coffee shop.” His smile faded. “Cassie, there is something seriously wrong with him.” Andrew took my elbow and dragged me into the doorway of a nail shop, and out of the stream of pedestrians. “I’ve seen him drunk before, but this time he was out of his mind.” His forehead creased. “He was raving about vampires at the Bleak Street.”

  I nervously bit my lip. Between threatening to light Victor’s play on fire and spilling the vampires’ secrets, Charles seemed desperate to seal his own fate.

  “He kept insisting that I go with him to meet some guy named Victor,” Andrew said. “That’s the playwright, isn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, well, Charles said that he wanted me to, quote, ‘be nice to Victor.’ Because if Victor liked me well enough, then he might change his mind about Charles directing 16 Voices.” Andrew’s dark eyes reflected his confusion. “Isn’t Charles was already directing that play?”