by Brady Hammes
“I’ve seen it,” Colin said. “It’s kinda lame, no offense. What’s with all the stammering? Does everyone in L.A. have a speech impediment?”
“What’s the show called?” Pat asked.
“It was called Makin’ It,” Gavin said. “But it’s no more. Canceled.”
“Oh no,” Pat said, looking unnecessarily distraught.
“Trust me. It’s for the best.”
“I thought about moving out to Hollywood,” Colin said, “but I’m not sure I’d like it.”
“You know what they say,” Don said. “There are two kinds of people in Hollywood. Those who think they want in, and those who know they want out.”
Mariana turned to Gavin. “Which one are you?”
“I’d argue there’s a third camp,” Gavin said. “Those who’d like to get out but can’t because they have no other marketable skills.”
“You could always move here,” Pat suggested. “That’s what Don did.”
“I slummed it in Tinseltown back in the seventies,” Don said, “but nothing came of it, so I set up shop out here and haven’t looked back.”
“Seems to have worked out pretty well,” Gavin said.
Don smiled. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“How long have you been working with Mariana?”
“Oh, gosh,” Don said, looking to the ceiling for an answer. “I guess since the beginning, right? Two years now.”
Mariana nodded.
“I was involved with some church productions before she showed up,” he said. “All in all I guess I’ve been subjecting the nice people of Taos to my hammy performances for close to thirty years.”
“Don is as bashful as he is talented,” Mariana said, refilling her wineglass.
“So what’s going on with the theater?” Colin asked, sawing at his meat. “A kid at school said the place nearly burned to the ground.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Mariana said. “But it may be a little while before we’re back in there. We’re waiting for the fire marshal to clear the place, at which point Jesse and his guys can get started on the restoration.”
Pat looked to Jesse. “How long will it take to fix something like that?”
“It’s hard to say until we get in there and have a look,” Jesse said. “But it could be a while.”
“Such a shame,” Pat said. “It was such a beautiful old theater. But I’m sure you can whip it back into shape.”
“We’ll see,” Jesse said. Something about Pat’s comment seemed to rub him the wrong way, as if he were tired of playing the role of maintenance man, the blue-collar laborer whose job was to construct stages on which the actors could perform.
“I’m looking for alternative venues,” Mariana said, “but there aren’t a lot of options. Since we can use the high school theater for rehearsals, I’d like to meet there tomorrow around two. Don, Pat, and Gavin can read through the first half of act one, and then we can run through the whole thing once Colin gets out of class.”
“Works for me,” Gavin said.
* * *
—
HE WAS NEARLY PASSED out in the hot tub when he heard what he thought was the doorbell. He wrapped himself in a towel and hurried inside, trailing water on the hardwood floor. He opened the door to find Mariana holding his cellphone. “You left this at my house.”
“Oh,” he said. He’d acquired a slight paunch over the years, which he tried to hide by shimmying the towel up his waist. “I was in the hot tub.”
“Obviously,” she said, smiling. “I’ve been ringing the doorbell for the past five minutes.”
“Sorry,” he said. “You want to come in?”
Mariana stepped inside, removing her boots. “I tried calling the landline, but I must not have the right number, because I kept getting some confused kid.” She helped herself to a seat on the couch. “I figured I’d better just bring it to you since it’s your only link to the outside world.”
The truth was that no one had called him in the last twenty-four hours. His services—as an actor, as a boyfriend—weren’t in high demand. But still, it was nice of her to return it, though the timing was certainly curious.
“You want something to drink?” he asked from the kitchen. “I picked up a bottle of wine on my way home.”
“If you’re having some.”
He wasn’t planning to. He was planning to go to bed and wake up without a hangover, but he couldn’t retract the offer. He poured two glasses, then slipped on a T-shirt and joined her on the couch.
“Thanks for putting up with the blue hairs,” she said.
“Blue hairs?”
“Don and Pat.”
“Oh yeah. They seem nice enough.”
“Don’s a legit actor. Pat will take some work, but I think I can get her there.”
“And the kid?” Gavin asked.
“Colin’s putty. I can make him do whatever I want, and for the most part he sells it pretty well. Plus, with that red hair and those sunken cheeks, he’s got the kind of sickly countenance that’s required of Edmund. That boy is consumption personified.”
“Is his girlfriend any good?”
“Not really, but that’s kind of a throwaway part. Those two are inseparable, so I knew that if I cast Madison, Colin would have a reason to show up for rehearsals.”
“You’re a very cunning director.”
“That’s half the job, isn’t it?”
Mariana inched closer to him on the couch, her leg brushing against his. There was no denying something was working its way to the surface, an adulterous kind of magma that threatened to do irreparable damage. Not only the way she kept looking at him at dinner, but also more innocuous things like the way she referred to it as her house, as if Jesse were just a tenant living month to month. It seemed like a conscious distancing tactic, and while he wasn’t certain what her intentions were at this late hour, he suspected they’d been decided upon well in advance. He leaned in to kiss her and she didn’t refuse.
* * *
—
MARIANA WAS GONE WHEN he awoke the next morning. Gavin found a note on the kitchen counter, telling him to meet at the high school at 2:00 for rehearsal, and so here he was. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inside a school, but the halls of Taos High resembled his own memories from so many years ago: long rows of beige metal lockers, a trophy case, aspirational posters taped to cinder block walls. He passed the gym, where the basketball team was running wind sprints, then made his way through some kind of common area, where a handful of kids were sitting on the floor, communing with their phones.
“Do you guys know where the theater is?” Gavin asked, and the kids, without looking up, pointed down the hall.
The theater was small, about the size of a classroom, more like a black box than a proper auditorium. Don, Pat, and Mariana sat at a table in the center of the room, surrounded by rows of metal folding chairs.
“There he is,” Don said. “There’s my good-for-nothing son. How are you, boy?”
“I’m well,” Gavin said, unsure if he was expected to arrive in character.
“You found us,” Mariana said. She was wearing black leggings and a chunky wool sweater, and she looked just as lovely as she had the night before. Maybe it was a result of being in a high school, but Gavin was reminded of walking into English class on the Monday after he’d lost his virginity to Jill Lehman during the senior camping trip, and knowing that there was something between them now, that their relationship had changed in a fundamental way.
“We were just going through the first few pages,” Mariana said, “but let’s push on now that you’re here.” She smiled at him and he smiled back. Just seeing her again, in this new environment, strained his focus, which he hoped went unnoticed by his castmates.
“
Sounds good.” Gavin pulled up a chair and paged to the beginning of act one.
“Let’s pick it up with Mary calling for the boys,” Mariana said. “I’ll read Edmund’s lines until Colin gets here.”
They made their way through the first part of act one, haltingly at first, but then, once Colin and Madison arrived, much quicker than Gavin had expected. Mariana made adjustments as they went, but for the most part the actors executed their lines with surprising precision, and if anyone seemed rusty it was Gavin. Colin was what Gavin had expected: slightly naïve, but also completely believable and pleasantly sympathetic. Don was appropriately animated, while Pat possessed the detached desperation required of her character. Mariana had a clear idea of what she wanted, but she conveyed her direction with a deft, almost maternal touch. After four hours, Gavin felt thoroughly reinvigorated, shaken to life by an enthusiasm for his craft he hadn’t felt in a very long time. As they were packing up, Don suggested a trip to the pub.
“I don’t know,” Gavin said. “I feel like I should go home and work on my lines. You guys are making me look bad.”
“Come on,” Mariana said, pulling on her coat. “It’s not every day the people of Taos get to rub shoulders with a big Hollywood star.”
* * *
—
THEY SET UP AT a table in a quiet corner of the pub, far away from the bluegrass band installed on a small stage by the entrance. Mariana returned from the bar with a pitcher and four glasses. “I want to thank everybody for all their hard work,” she said, distributing the beer. “Nobody’s getting rich from this, but I hope we can create something we’re all proud of.”
“Cheers,” Don said, raising his glass.
“And cheers to Mariana,” Pat said, “for directing a play while also planning a wedding. It’s a Herculean effort. You must be exhausted, sweetheart.”
“I’m a little fried,” Mariana said, “but the end is near.”
“The wedding is near,” Don said, “but the real work begins the next day. As my father used to say, a wedding is a day but a marriage is a lifetime.”
Mariana looked to Gavin and offered a nervous smile. Gavin took a sip of his beer.
“What about you, Gavin?” Pat asked. “I take it you aren’t married.”
“Not yet.”
“People in L.A. don’t get married till they’re forty,” Don said.
“Then you’ve got some time,” Pat said.
“Not if you ask my mother,” Gavin replied.
“Look who it is,” Don announced.
Gavin looked up and saw Jesse clomping toward the table. “Howdy,” he said with a solemn nod.
Gavin, who had been seated next to Mariana, stood up from the table. “Here. Take my seat.”
“That’s okay,” Jesse said.
“No, no. Sit next to your fiancée.” Gavin felt the sudden need to remove himself from the situation.
“You’re fine,” Jesse said. “I’ll pull up a chair.”
“What do you want to drink?” Gavin asked. “I’ll get this next round.”
“You’re our guest,” Jesse said. “Let me buy you a beer.”
Fuck this guy, Gavin thought. The only thing that might ease his guilt was the assurance that the man whose fiancée he had slept with was a monstrous asshole. But he wasn’t, and it only compounded the terrible shame overtaking Gavin like a heavy fog. Jesse had been nothing but kind and Gavin had been nothing but covetous, and the disparity of their moral codes was alarming.
Jesse walked to the bar to fetch another pitcher, while Pat excused herself to visit the ladies’ room. Don turned his attention to the band.
“Did you know he was coming?” Gavin whispered to Mariana.
She shook her head.
“I should probably go.”
“Don’t be silly,” she whispered, her eyes trained on the band.
Jesse returned with a pitcher and took the seat next to Mariana.
“How’d it go today?” she asked, turning to him.
“Got the all clear from the fire marshal,” Jesse said. “We’ll get started on the cleanup tomorrow.”
“How bad is it?” Don asked.
“Could have been a lot worse,” Jesse said. “They were able to contain it before it spread too far.”
“How long do you think until it’s back to normal?”
“Hard to say. Maybe three or four weeks if we hustle. Not sure how much I’ll get done with the wedding coming up.” Jesse put his arm around Mariana and pulled her close, kissed her on the cheek. “That’s the most important thing right now.”
“Cheers to that,” Don said, raising his glass.
Gavin watched the glasses go up, then raised his own in a half-hearted salute.
* * *
—
THE DAYS PASSED IN cloudy disgrace. Mariana would stop by his place in the morning, under the pretense of work, and they’d ski, then have sex in the hot tub before heading to the high school for rehearsals. It was a nice little rhythm and despite the illicitness of the affair, Gavin was happier than he’d been in some time. He knew he should pull back, but he wanted to believe there was a way for this to work out without any collateral damage. It had been years since he’d felt this close to Renee, if in fact he ever had, and it only highlighted the hollowness of their relationship. Everything she’d accused him of was true. Theirs was a relationship born out of convenience, particularly when viewed in the context of his feelings for Mariana, which were visceral and all-consuming. He’d squandered his opportunity with her once before, and now, five years later, in a small mountain town in New Mexico, he’d been presented with a second chance.
SAMANTHA
SHE ARRIVED AT THE STUDIO, but Max wasn’t there. She ditched her bag and joined the other dancers stretching at the barre. As she went through her routine, she noticed a couple maintenance men patching the broken window with a sheet of plywood. Nikolai, who had been chatting with one of the private security guards who typically patrolled the grounds, approached Sam. “Can I have a word with you?”
He led her to a quiet corner of the rehearsal space. “What’s this?” he asked, handing her a piece of notebook paper. Written in black marker were the words: Stay away from her! “I found this taped to the door when I showed up this morning. What’s going on?”
He’d done it. That little fucker Ivan had thrown the rock through the window yesterday. The kid had lost his mind. She thought she’d made it very clear to him that he wasn’t supposed to show up at the company, yet there he was, not only vandalizing property but also destroying a rare chance at intimacy. She would kill him. Strangle the fucker. Dead.
“Sam.” Nikolai grabbed the piece of paper from her. “What’s this about?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know who threw a rock through my window?”
“Just some kid,” she said, her voice betraying her. “He’s harmless.”
“Do you owe him money?” Nikolai’s tone was eerily calm. She would have preferred that he just scream at her and get it over with.
She shook her head.
“Then why is he breaking the windows of my studio?”
“I don’t know.” It was the first honest thing she’d said. “He’s obviously nuts.”
“Yet he’s a friend of yours.”
“Not anymore.” She caught the reflection of her fellow dancers in the wall mirror, and while they pretended to be immersed in their stretching, it was obvious that the collective gaze was fixed upon her.
“Do you remember my ultimatum?” Nikolai said.
“I don’t need a lecture,” Sam said. “I’ve got work to do.”
“There’s no work for you here.”
She looked up at him for the first time. “What do you mean?”
“Go home, Sam.” There was a fin
ality to his directive.
“Please, Nikolai. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re no longer welcome here.”
“Please. I’ll make it up to you. I want to make this happen. I’m ready to work.” She was groveling. She could see that. She didn’t care.
“Pack your bags and leave. I’m done with you.” Nikolai turned and walked out of the studio.
Sam turned her back to the other dancers and placed her head in her hands.
Marie, who had been stretching at the barre, approached and touched her shoulder. “What happened?”
Sam glanced up at the wall mirror. Her mouth hung open and tears ran down her face. “It’s over,” she said. “I’m done.”
* * *
—
SHE RAN THROUGH THE FOREST, chest throttling, fingers burning, her anger like a current. She arrived at the highway and followed it until she reached the gravel road that led to the farm. It was an old Soviet-era peasant plot with a small house and barn ringed by a few acres of scorched farmland. Dead cornstalks poked through the snow and some loose cows were huddled next to a chicken coop, hiding from the wind. A truck, two motorcycles, and Ivan’s bicycle were parked out front. Back behind the house, Gregor, the owner of the place, was splitting firewood. He’d inherited the land from his parents, and enlisted local junkies to help him work it in exchange for a place to get high, a kind of shooting gallery for farmhands. The house was littered with spent needles and burnt spoons, and the roof was pocked with holes offering views of the daytime skies. It depressed her to come to this place, with all these broken, dead-eyed addicts. She’d always surrounded herself with the ambitious and the talented, what she referred to as the bright, shiny people of New York, yet these people were its inverse. These people were sad and directionless, and she’d always felt that her career, the fact that she was actually doing something with her life, was what prevented her from sliding into their debased orbit, but the truth was that she’d become one of them.
