Stage Fright (Bit Parts)

by Scott, Michelle

  Despite his joking and friendliness, I’d frequently seen the troubled look haunting Perry’s eyes. Isaiah’s grimness had lessened since I’d known him, but his heart was still heavy. I laid my head on his shoulder. “Will you ever come out of the dark?”

  “We are getting better. Slowly. Working together at the store helps a lot. So does taking out the rogues.” He put his arm around me. “But my leading lady is my best medicine.”

  I smiled, warmed to my toes. “Glad to oblige.”

  He tightened his hold. “Don’t worry, Cassie. Andrew will come around eventually. All he needs is some strong support.” He glanced at the trash. “Or maybe a better recipe.”

  A strong supporter with the right recipe… Thrilled, I kissed Isaiah on the cheek. My vampire hunter was not only strong and sexy, he was incredibly smart as well.

  Even though I promised my sister that I would waitress for free over the weekend, Elena arrived at the house in a bad mood. “You do realize that this is my busiest time of the year,” she complained. She plopped her purse and several bags of groceries on the table. “And don’t you dare tell Mom that I gave away her recipe. She’ll never talk to me again.”

  “It’s for a good cause.” I lowered my voice. “Andrew is really depressed, but I think this will help cheer him up.”

  Elena sobered. “I heard that Caleb died.”

  Caleb’s body had been found in the park, but Victor had never laid a hand on him. It was the concussion Caleb had received in the accident that did him in. Dazed and drunk, he’d wandered the wooded park until he collapsed, dying of exposure before anyone found him. When I’d given Andrew the news, he’d received it with dry eyes.

  I knocked on Andrew’s door and poked my head inside. My roommate sat on his bed with his laptop, but he hadn’t booted the computer and was staring at a black screen.

  “You’ve got a visitor,” I said.

  “I’m really not in the mood.”

  “It’s Elena. She wants to teach you how to make moussaka.”

  He blinked and looked up. “Really?”

  I nodded. “But you better act now because this is a limited, one-time offer.”

  When my sister saw Andrew, her eyes widened. She didn’t comment, but she shot me an ‘Oh-my-God-what-the-hell-happened-to-him’ look. Almost immediately, however, she became brisk and practical.

  “The first step in making moussaka is fresh eggplant.” She placed one of the purple vegetables into his hands. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

  Andrew stroked the smooth skin, then put his nose to it and inhaled deeply. A faint light, like a pinprick of sunshine at the end of a long tunnel, shone in his eyes. “Yes.”

  Elena began assembling her tools: cutting board, mixing bowls, and spoons. When Andrew offered to peel the eggplants, she took one look at his dull eyes and removed the sharp paring knife from his hand. Instead, she set him to mixing cheese. As she worked, she chatted constantly, like a chef on a cooking show.

  I sat at the table and watched, holding my breath in hope that cooking with my sister might put a spark in Andrew the way the Bleak Street had in me. By the time they assembled the casserole, Andrew’s face had softened, and his blank-eyed stare had grown more focused. He even laughed. I breathed a prayer of thanks.

  To celebrate the occasion, I’d set a beautiful table by unpacking my mother’s china from the boxes stored in the basement, pouring wine into her crystal glasses, and lighting candles. After we assembled, Andrew offered a toast, a little stilted but otherwise heartfelt, and we each took a bite.

  It was amazing.

  Of course, Elena had done nearly all of the work, but we both praised Andrew who blushed in his typical, geisha way. For the first time in days I was comforted, knowing my best friend was going to be okay. He’d need a lot of time to heal, but Isaiah had been right. Andrew would eventually come around.

  Since Andrew and Elena had cooked, I cleaned up the kitchen. Elena stuck around for a while, drying dishes. From Andrew’s bedroom came the comforting sounds of Portal.

  “What’s really going on with him?” Elena asked.

  “Vampires,” I said.

  She thoughtfully rubbed a towel over a mixing bowl. “I know I shouldn’t believe you, but for some reason, I do.”

  “Isaiah and Perry are both vampire hunters,” I said, testing my luck.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Like I told you before, Isaiah’s sister was turned into a vampire. She’s the reason why Andrew is the way he is.”

  Her mouth twisted in a moue of disbelief.

  “And Isaiah and I are officially a couple.”

  “Well.” She set aside the bowl and reached for a plate. “Well, well, well.”

  “You wanted to know,” I reminded her.

  “I did, and since you’re my kid sister, I’ll try to believe you. Even if you are crazy.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  We continued doing the dishes in silence.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I hadn’t been inside the Cipher Theater since my fateful audition, and walking through the doors felt like passing through the gates of hell. Just crossing the lobby was a challenge. With every step, dark memories of my vampire attack bubbled to the surface. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Isaiah had offered to accompany me, but I’d refused. With all of the rehearsals ahead of me, I had to be able to do this on my own. If I lost my nerve, I’d never be able to stage Victor’s play.

  Every muscle tensed when I entered the house and turned on the lights, but my knees wobbled like Jell-O. The place smelled musty and unused, like Hedda’s blind pig. Keeping my eyes focused on the stage, I walked past the rows of seats, trying not think of what had lain in wait for me that long-ago afternoon. You can do this, I mumbled to myself. Stay strong.

  I’d come to the Cipher fully armed. Not just with a crucifix and stakes, but also with the glass bureau knob from the Bleak Street. Its energy warmed the palm of my hand and made my fingertips tingle pleasantly. Still, as I mounted the steps to the stage, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was on a death march to the gallows.

  Shoulders rigid, I walked to center stage. As if I was once again making an audition, I book a deep breath and faced the empty house. Nothing moved. Another deep breath and a swallow. I’d never conquer my fear until I did this. And I could do it.

  Quietly, I began the very lines I’d spoken in my audition. “May I speak plainly?... If you'll forgive me, he's common...” Growing bolder, I raised my voice. “He’s like an animal. He has an animal’s habits.”

  When nothing in the theater stirred, I adopted Blanche’s southern drawl. “There's even something subhuman about him. Thousands of years have passed him right by, and there he is. Stanley Kowalski, survivor of the Stone Age, bearing the raw meat home from the kill in the jungle.” My projection was now at its loudest, and my voice filled the theater. “And you - you here waiting for him. Maybe he'll strike you or maybe grunt and kiss you, that’s if kisses have been discovered yet. His poker night you call it. This party of apes.”

  There it was in full. The audition I’d tried to give all those months ago. Flushed with success, I grinned at the empty seats. Then, as though I was receiving a standing ovation from a packed house, I bowed.

  For the next few weeks, I almost lived at the Cipher. As I moved from the arduous process of selecting my six cast members to the even more arduous process of blocking, I wished Victor was working alongside me. Still, I counted myself lucky. It was no secret that I was staging the play, but Charles hadn’t shown up once. Apparently, he was too busy enjoying his new vampire lifestyle to hassle me. And with rehearsals in full swing, I finally had a distraction from my thoughts of revenge.

  One evening after I’d dismissed the cast and sat in the empty theater making notes, someone called my name.

  I turned with a jolt, but it was only Hedda. She came towards me, walking so gracefully she appeared to float. However, while she moved with a vampi
re’s fluidity, she had a human’s weariness about her. Gray hair streaked her temples, and creases marked the corners of her eyes. She was starting to show her true age.

  “What do you think of the play?” I asked.

  “It’s brilliant. Victor would be proud.”

  I smiled, pleased that she approved. 16 Voices, which I’d renamed 6 Voices, was a marvelous play. Even after sitting through the endless rehearsals, there were moments when the dialogue moved me.

  Hedda took the seat next to mine. “This isn’t just a play you’re staging. It’s art. Real art that speaks the truth.” She faced the stage, but her eyes were looking at something a hundred miles distant and a dozen years away. “Although, telling the truth can get a person into trouble.”

  “You’re talking about The Scent of Ketchup.” Knowing the damage that play had done, I could finally say the title without wanting to laugh. “I heard that Bertrand didn’t like it. I guess he’s still sore about the divorce?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Did you see the play?”

  I shrugged, embarrassed. “No.” In fact, back when I’d seen it in listed on the Bleak Street’s schedule, I’d laughingly told Andrew that I already knew what ketchup smelled like.

  She looked at her hands. “The play ends with the jealous husband murdering his wife’s young lover. His wife’s female lover. Publically admitting that I love women the way other women love men humiliated him.”

  My eyebrows flew up in surprise. Of course, I’d known about Hedda and Marcella, but I’d assumed their relationship was a one-time event in Hedda’s life. “And here I thought Bertrand was angry at you for divorcing him and remarrying someone in Boston.”

  Her laugh made her sound like her old self. “No, my dear. I never married anyone in Boston. I had a Boston marriage. That was the term they used back then for two women who lived together. No, I’ve always preferred women.” She smoothed her dress and knitted her brow. “When Bertrand discovered that I’d fallen in love with my maid, he killed her in front of me because he took my predilections as a personal insult. His own wife, a leading member of the Peabody grieve, was a pervert? Oh, the humiliation! He might have murdered me as well – vampire laws be damned – but I fled to Detroit. With all that distance between us, he was able to ignore my lifestyle. In fact, when we divorced, he agreed to pay me a monthly sum in order to keep me independent and away from him. Eventually, I started my own grieve.”

  She gave me a sidelong glance, as if deciding how much of herself she dared share. Finally, she said, “Until I met Marcella, all of my relationships were chaste. You see, I was still influenced by the era in which I grew up. Loving another woman was fine, but physically exploring that love was not. Marcella, however, had none of my reservations and taught me what it meant to fully give myself to another.” Her heavy sigh seemed to come from the very bottom of her heart. “It was pure selfishness that made me change her into a vampire. I knew her voice would be ruined, but I wanted her at my side for the rest of my life.” She wiped her glistening eyes. “It was no wonder she betrayed me.”

  “It was Charles’s fault.” The words slipped out without my intending them to. When Hedda’s face tightened, I rushed on. “Charles has always wanted control of your grieve! He started with the Cipher incident, and when that didn’t work, he started putting thoughts into Marcella’s head. He’s the one who whipped her into a feeding frenzy.”

  Hedda’s hiss exposed her fangs. “Enough!”

  I shrank away, already reaching for my silver necklace.

  Luckily, Hedda immediately got herself under control. “I appreciate your concern about Charles, but vampires are allowed to run their own grieves only as long as they abide by the rules. I knew that Marcella’s appetites were getting out of control and that she was creating rogues. I should have punished her instead of hiding her crimes. Besides, the decision to dissolve the Widderstrom Grieve came from Bertrand, my maker, and Victor, Bertrand’s maker. I’m obliged to obey.”

  “But…”

  “No. No buts. It’s karma, Cassie. I knowingly stole the thing Marcella loved the most when I changed her. Now, it’s only right that I lose what I love most.” Her face tightened. “Besides, without Marcella at my side, nothing matters anymore.”

  I wanted to offer her some kind of comfort, but before I could, she had left the theater. Nothing remained but a trace of her perfume.

  I met Isaiah at the door with a kiss that had Perry clearing his throat in embarrassment. “We might have found the cause behind global warming,” he said when Andrew came into the living room.

  My roommate rolled his eyes. “Get a room, you two. On second thought, get a room that’s not in the same house as I am. I don’t want to hear any moaning.”

  At the mention of a room, a blush rose to my cheeks. Isaiah, too, looked chagrinned. The tips of his ears reddened, and he didn’t meet Perry’s eyes.

  Isaiah and I hadn’t yet required a room for the night, but I was keeping my options open. I’d even stashed a new toothbrush in my purse in the event that he invited me to sleep over.

  Knowing he’d embarrassed us, Andrew grinned devilishly. Thanks to our vampire support group, Drew was getting a little better every day. He’d put on some weight, and his skin was no longer pallid. He kept his hair longer now and wore it fashionably mussed up, a style that made him look even yummier in my opinion. Although he was frequently depressed, dazed, and forgetful, his fighting spirit was showing through the blackness.

  Andrew darted back into the kitchen. I took Isaiah’s hand and led him and Perry into the dining room. Once again, I’d spread a beautiful table with my mother’s china, crystal wine glasses, and candles. I’d even added a centerpiece of fresh flowers: a pot of yellow mums that I’d rescued from the grocery store’s markdown table.

  Isaiah murmured his approval as I poured wine. “What’s for dinner?” Perry asked. He looked understandably nervous. This was Andrew’s dinner party debut. Although I was thrilled that Andrew had regained his drive to cook, most of his food continued to be unpalatable. I’d suffered through mouthfuls of bland, rubbery chicken and briny, greasy soups. His cookies tasted a little better but upset my stomach if I ate more than one.

  “Comfort food. Mac and cheese, and fresh apple and pear compote.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Isaiah said.

  I agreed, but to play it safe, I poured the wine glasses extra full. It couldn’t hurt to be a little inebriated when we sampled Drew’s cooking. I’d also stocked up on Tums and Zantac. Just in case.

  Andrew, once again wearing his Mr. Good-Lookin’ is Cookin’ apron, served dinner a few minutes later. The macaroni and cheese smelled wonderful, and had a beautifully browned crust. The apple-pear compote was served warm with a sprinkle of cinnamon.

  Before we ate, Andrew stood and raised his wine glass. “Here’s to the Fantastic Four…”

  Perry raised his hand. “I believe that name is already taken.”

  “Fine. The Fabulous Four.”

  Isaiah winced but didn’t protest.

  Andrew toasted each of us in turn. “Professor Getts, the Outfielder, Leading Lady, and Cutting Edge.” I held back a snicker. “Let us live to fight another day.”

  We all clinked glasses.

  The mac and cheese was a bit dry, and the compote overly sweet, but it was a vast improvement from Andrew’s previous attempts. Both Perry and Isaiah asked for seconds, and Perry went back for thirds. Andrew alternated between smiles and frowns, pleased that his guests enjoyed the meal, but unhappy about the quality of the dishes.

  When the guys began a discussion about Superman’s code of ethics as they pertained to white, middle-class America, I opted to make coffee and serve dessert. As the token female member of the Fabulous Four, I would no doubt have to endure many more philosophical discussions about comic books.

  As I filled the coffee pot with water, Isaiah came into the kitchen carrying several dirty plates. “I wondered where you’d disappeare
d to.” He gathered me into his arms and kissed my forehead. “I worried that you’d slipped off to the theater again.” Over the past few weeks, he’d been gently complaining about how much time I’d been spending at the Cipher.

  I pressed myself against his chest and ran my hands along his broad back. “I saw Hedda today. She looked terrible. For a vampire, that is. I tried to make her listen to me about Charles stealing her grieve, but she refused to hear a word of it.”

  “She’s a vampire, and she was ordered to hand over her grieve by older, stronger vampires.”

  “But she’s not even trying to get it back. In fact, I’m worried that she’s starving herself. I think it’s why she looked so old.” I laid my head on his shoulder. “Maybe I should let this go, but I can’t. Hedda was cheated out of everything she loves.”

  Andrew poked his head into the kitchen. “Can I come in? Or are you two making a love sandwich?”

  I pulled a face. “Ugh. Stop already. I was telling Isaiah about Hedda.” Over the past few weeks, I’d slowly filled Andrew in on the vampire drama. He agreed that Charles was a bastard and didn’t deserve to run Hedda’s grieve, but at the same time, he couldn’t offer any suggestions on what to do about it.

  Andrew gathered coffee mugs from the cupboard, then took the coffee pot back to the dining room.

  “Um, Drew honey, there’s only water in that pot. The coffee hasn’t started brewing.”

  He flushed. “Right.” He poured the water into the coffee maker.

  Not only had Charles stolen Hedda’s grieve, he’d also – in a way – stolen Andrew’s shine as well. I couldn’t let him get away with that. Somehow, I had to bring Charles to justice.

  While we were eating dessert, I talked more about Hedda’s visit to the theater. “She told me that Six Voices was very good. That it was real art because it told the truth.”

  “Charles won’t be happy if the play is a success,” Andrew said. “He’s always hated it.”