Thoughts While Having Sex

by Stephanie Lehmann

  For one thing, she still didn't have her lines. So they had to keep stop/starting, stop/starting, stop/starting. And when she could deliver a line, the rhythm was off. Peter reminded them that the pace, especially in this scene, had to be very fast, with the lines volleyed back and forth with intensity. Because in a sense, the "ghost" was the inside of Melanie's head, and she was talking to herself.

  Melanie: "I called the next day."

  Julia: "Not this again."

  Melanie: "And I left a message."

  Julia: "We know, we know."

  Melanie: "And I told you I changed my mind and you could move in."

  Julia: "But you were too late."

  "Faster!" Peter interrupted. "I don't want to hear any airspace between the lines! Melanie, overlap 'And I told you I changed my mind' over her second 'we know.' Again!"

  Melanie: "I called the next day."

  Julia: "Not this again."

  Melanie: "And I left a message."

  Julia: "We know, we know."

  Melanie: "And I told you I changed my mind and you could move in."

  Julia: "But you were too late."

  Melanie: "Two days passed. You didn't call. I got a bad feeling."

  Kelly asked for her line. Carol fed it. '"You can go over and over—'"

  Julia: "You can go over and over it in your mind—"

  Melanie: "A very bad feeling."

  Julia: "But it won't turn out any differently. The ending will always be the same."

  They stumbled through another page and started to reach the climax of the scene. I leaned forward, listening for the build.

  Melanie: "So I walked over to your place."

  Julia: "You really should've taken a cab."

  Melanie: "I went down the streets very slowly."

  Julia: "I could've been writhing on the floor in pain."

  Melanie: "And looked at everything very carefully."

  "Drive it!" Peter urged.

  Julia: "Breathing my last breaths."

  Melanie: "I had the feeling I would never look at anything the same again."

  Julia: "And what did you see Melanie, tell me what you saw."

  Melanie: "The apartment was its usual mess."

  Kelly broke the spell. "I'm sorry, line?" she asked.

  This section should've come easy. Kelly, the self-proclaimed "quick study" had to be doing it on purpose.

  Carol fed the line. '"If I'd known you were—'"

  Julia: "If I'd known you were coming I would've cleaned up."

  Melanie: "You knew I had the key—"

  Carol: '"You knew I would come, you knew I had the key.'"

  "Sorry," Annie said. "Fuck."

  "Just take it back a line, Kelly. “If I'd known you were coming—

  Julia: "If I'd known you were coming I would've cleaned up."

  Melanie: "You knew I would come, you knew I had the key. I walked in the door. The apartment was silent. There was an open yogurt on the table next to the rocking chair. Mold growing in the yogurt. A library book propped open on the coffee table. The Andy Warhol Diaries. You were halfway through."

  Julia: "Boring."

  Melanie: "I called out your name. No answer. Went slowly into the bedroom. The kitty ran past. Your bed was unmade. Not surprising. There's still the hope that you were angry with me, and you've

  just gone on a walk, and you '11 be coming up the stairs to your apartment any second, and I'll say, 'God! Julia! Where have you been? I was starting to think..."

  Julia: "And I would say, Melanie. I'm so happy to see you."

  I leaned forward in my seat, tensing for what I knew was coming next. But Kelly broke the rhythm.

  "Line?"

  I knew she knew that line. She'd quoted it to me back on the night she made me dinner at her apartment.

  Carol read it off the script. "'If I'd known you were coming, I would've made you some dinner. Your favorite pasta, with sweet Italian sausage!'"

  Julia: "If I'd known you were coming, I would've made you some dinner. Your favorite pasta, with sweet Italian sausage!"

  Melanie: "You enjoy torturing me, don't you—"

  Annie was midway through her line when suddenly Kelly stopped and looked at Peter.

  "I'm sorry," Kelly said, "but I'm having a problem with this."

  "You bet you're having a problem—you're still fumbling your lines!"

  Kelly threw her script on the floor. "That's because the lines don't make any sense!"

  I sunk down in my seat. What was she doing?

  Peter tried to keep his voice calm. "What doesn't make any sense?"

  "I have never felt comfortable with Julia coming back as a ghost," Kelly complained. "Why is she here? What's her motivation? What does she want?"

  "She wants to torture me," Annie said.

  "That's not enough."

  Yes it is, I thought.

  "Okay," Peter said, making a show of considering what Kelly was saying. "Let's think about it. What does Julia want?"

  The room was silent as everyone considered the question.

  I saw Julia as an extension of Melanie in this scene. She wasn't alive. Her wants were irrelevant. It was only Melanie's wants that were important. Would she be able to survive her sister's death.

  Peter turned to me. "Jennifer? Is there anything you want to say here?"

  I shook my head. I wanted to hear where they'd go without me.

  "Okay," Peter said, "let's think about this. Julia is dead. She's probably angry that she's dead. She probably wants some sort of revenge on her sister."

  "That's all from Melanie's point of view," Kelly argued. "Julia never saw it like that. She never wanted anything bad for Melanie. She loved Melanie. And, in fact, Melanie had nothing to do with her death. Julia probably would've killed herself sooner or later, whether they had that fight or not. Do you agree with that Jennifer?"

  I felt like I was walking into a trap. "Yes."

  "So why would she want revenge?" Kelly continued. "I don't think she wants Melanie to suffer. I think she wants Melanie to live her life to the fullest."

  I frowned to myself. Her comment had a ring of truth to it. An ugly ring. Had I been writing totally from the lopsided point of view of the bitter downtrodden sister instead of keeping a healthy perspective on the whole picture?

  Annie spoke up. "But this scene isn't about Julia's wants or needs. Her wants and needs are over. It's about Melanie. It's Melanie fighting with the inside of her head, her guilty conscience. And it's a very theatrical way of showing that it doesn't matter what Julia wants because even though she's there, she's only there because Melanie can still imagine her."

  I was glad she said that. For one thing it was nice to hear her championing Melanie for once. For another, it was totally in line with what I'd been thinking. But Kelly didn't buy it.

  "I can't act that. It feels false."

  I wondered if Kelly didn't like this scene because Julia takes a backseat. Out of the spotlight. Secondary. Not the main character. And she just couldn't stand that, just like Julia couldn't, just like Diana couldn't. But that was how I wanted it. After a lifetime of letting my sister be the main character in our family, I wasn't going to let her take over my play.

  "So what if..." Peter was saying, "Julia misses her little sister and she wants to bring her with."

  "Bring her with?" Kelly asked.

  "She wants Melanie to get so upset, she'll feel like she doesn't deserve to live, so she'll kill herself too, and then they can be together. In a selfish but loving way, Julia wants her sister by her side."

  I didn't really buy it, but at least that would give her motivation.

  Kelly considered this. "You're suggesting that Julia comes here to drive her sister to suicide so she can have someone to hang out with?" She shook head. "I don't think so."

  "Why not?" Peter replied.

  "Because Julia is not an egomaniac!"

  "Are you sure?" I couldn't resist throwing out from my seat up in the back.<
br />
  That's when Kelly turned and spoke straight to me.

  "The air is taken out of the play when Julia dies. It isn't dramatic anymore. The battle is over."

  I sat forward in my seat trying not to let my voice shake. “What are you suggesting?"

  "I'm not suggesting anything, that's not my job. I'm just telling you, as the actress who has to say the lines out loud, that it isn't—"

  "I mean, here it is," I said, my voice rising above hers, "three days before we open, and you announce this major problem you have—"

  "It wouldn't have been right for me to say anything until we rehearsed it. I was hoping I would be able to work through it, but I can't. And that's why I'm speaking up now."

  She looked at me, making a show of exuding reasonableness.

  But she wasn't trying to help. She was making trouble, just like my sister. Hogging the attention and focusing it all on herself and her needs.

  I looked at Peter for a moment, wanting him to rescue me, but he started to say the wrong thing.

  "Maybe we should take a break and think about this—"

  "No!” I popped out of my seat. “We are not taking a break,” I said, bounding down to the stage. "There’s nothing to think about. I’m not changing the scene. It has to be this way. Or else there is no final confrontation—"

  "The final confrontation," Kelly interrupted, "should be when Julia is alive! Because it’s only effective if they have that confrontation in the flesh."

  "It can't be when she's alive!" I said, practically screaming straight into Kelly's face. "Because it's her death... It's her death that is the final, the final..." (Where were the words; where was my breath?) "... the final worst possible most devastating thing that could happen, and that’s what ultimately makes it possible for Melanie to move forward, so how can I accomplish that if Julia is still alive?"

  Kelly looked at me—not impressed—and responded with the classic line that actors and directors love to say to writers.

  "I'm not pretending to tell you how to write your play. I'm just trying to point out what's not working."

  So cool. So self-assured. So confident. Meanwhile I stood there shaking and sweating like my entire existence was on the line. And I had to ask myself, Was this the same defensiveness that surfaced when Peter tried to get me to raise the stakes in the other scene? Would I wake up tomorrow and realize that she was right and I was wrong?

  No. It had to be this way. Julia died and then Melanie had to face her demons.

  "It's not the same," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "to wish someone dead and then see them go on living, as it is to wish someone dead and then see them die."

  There was a weird moment of silence.

  "I am trying to dramatize Melanie's fear," I went on, "that she is responsible for the death. That by wishing it, she made it happen. I know it's not a very attractive thing, to admit to wishing someone dead. But unfortunately, it's real. And that's what this scene is about. So how can she confront that horror if Julia is still alive?"

  It was mortifying. To proclaim in front of these people, barely disguised in the form of a scene in a play, that I had wished my sister dead.

  But I also felt, having stated it so clearly, an incredible sense of relief. Especially since it didn't really seem to faze anyone very much.

  "We all know your sister's death upset you very much," Kelly said, "but if you really want to make this a good play, you're going to have to get some perspective. You were not the most important person in your sister's life. Your sister did not kill herself because of you."

  At that, she grabbed her water bottle and her black patent leather hand bag and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Annie, Peter, Carol and I looked at each other.

  "I guess rehearsal is over for today,” Peter said with disgust. "I might as well take care of some business." He headed for the office.

  "This is fucked,” Annie said, going to stuff her script in her backpack.

  Carol took off right away. "I'm out of here."

  Still shaking, with my whole bra soggy with sweat, I lingered in the lobby. I needed Peter to say something reassuring to me. I looked in the doorway of his office, but now the publicist was bothering him about some reservations a group of NYU students had made and whether they should be comped in. Finally he turned to me.

  "Jennifer. I'll call you later.”

  "Do you think she'll come around?"

  "I'll have a talk with her."

  "I can't believe that with this little time left, she has to storm out like that."

  "Actresses,” he said in a mocking way, and then he winked. I appreciated that wink, whether it was genuine or not. It would help get me through the night.

  I hit the bathroom before leaving, and was glad to find Annie there. She stood in front of the mirror applying makeup.

  "You don't usually wear makeup, do you? When you're not performing?" I asked, not wanting to immediately address the disaster rehearsal had just been.

  "My agent says I have to."

  "Why?"

  "She says I look too plain without it."

  "That's ridiculous."

  I didn't wear any myself, other than lipstick. Boxes of

  makeup rescued from Diana's bathroom sat in my closet. Lipsticks, mascara, lotions and creams. One case had about a hundred different shades of eye shadow. I never touched any of it, never would, but couldn't bring myself to throw any of it out.

  "I don't like it," Annie said, "But my agent says I should. I don't know. Maybe it's good for me. Get rid of this girl-next-door image and glam it up."

  "Just to go home on the subway?"

  "She wants me to get used to looking like this all the time."

  "So you can feel permanently dissatisfied with your natural looks?"

  "Don't you want to be an actress?"

  "Right now I sure don't want to be a writer."

  "Yeah. Sorry about rehearsal." Annie brushed mascara on her lashes.

  "It's not your fault. You've been wonderful." I didn't want to interrupt this conversation to go pee, so I combed my hair just to have something to do.

  "I just mean I'm sorry she had to walk out like that. We need to rehearse. I'm pissed off that she left."

  "Yeah. And she's been so relatively low-maintenance up till now."

  "Unlike me?"

  "You've been working through your part. That's to be expected. And you never walked out on a rehearsal. That sucks."

  "It sucks."

  Annie put some raspberry colored lipstick on. I thought it looked too dark for her but didn't say so. I looked in the mirror and decided I could use a dash of color myself. I got out my own lipstick and put some on.

  "I just hope she doesn't quit," I said.

  "She won't."

  "She might."

  "She's not self-destructive like that," Annie insisted.

  "But what if she refuses to do the scene the way it's written?" I pressed my lips together to even out the color. Suddenly I felt like my own shade was too light. Maybe I should get raspberry, like Annie.

  "Kelly knows it's a great part. She's not going to fuck it up just because she has a quibble with the last scene."

  "I hope you're right," I said, wondering if Annie secretly agreed with Kelly. Or maybe she thought I was a horrible person because I'd wished my sister dead. (That is, Melanie had wished her sister dead.)

  Annie put her makeup away. At that moment I envied her for playing the part of Melanie and not actually having to be her. She could just leave the theater and go home and deal with her own problems, which certainly couldn't be as unpleasant as mine. At least, I assumed that was so, not knowing anything about her personal life.

  Before leaving, she took a good look in the mirror and evaluated her makeover. "Success!" she said. "I don't recognize myself."

  I decided not to go to the tech rehearsal. It was a very tedious process, and tempers were bound to be flaring. Light cues, sound c
ues, lines and blocking all had to be coordinated. It involved a lot of nerve-wracking stopping and starting and was not satisfying for anyone. The actresses wouldn't even be able to work on their acting—they were just supposed to deliver their lines so the crew could work out their cues. And the fact that they still didn't have their lines memorized would make it worse. Let the chips fall as they may; there was nothing I could do at this point and seeing the chaos would only worry me.

  But the following night was the dress rehearsal, and I had to see where we all stood. As I got ready to leave for the theater, I considered calling Peter. I still felt like I needed some reassurance from him. But I didn't want to bother him. He had enough to worry about without having to take care of my nerves. Anyway, he was probably doing a million things at the theater. So I started out, but then the phone rang. I picked it up, hoping it was him. It was my mother.

  "How are rehearsals going?" she asked.

  "Could be better."

  "Still don't want us to come?"

  "Let's see how it goes."

  "I'm sure it's going to be wonderful."

  "Yeah, well, we'll see."

  She knew the play was about two sisters. She didn't know anything more than that.

  "Well, good luck tonight."

  "Thanks."

  "I love you." My parents had taken to saying that more often since my sister died. People in my family didn't say those words, as adults at least, very often. If at all.

  "I love you," I said, still awkward with the words myself. But if she was going to be saying it, I wasn't going to make myself look bad by being the one who couldn't. And, after all, I did love her. Despite the fact that she had always expected me to take care of myself, and never have any of my own problems, and always be there for Diana. Despite the fact that I knew they missed her in a horrible way and now they had to settle on just having me and I was a totally inadequate replacement. Not that they really had settled on me. Because I couldn't replace her. Even if I hadn't been so different from her. Even if I were her identical twin. Even if I wanted to.