Exit Stage Left Page 4

  His lordship’s name isn’t familiar, so I make a mental note to Google him later.

  Roger launches directly into a lecture as the class spreads out, some taking the chairs against the walls, some sitting on the floor at his feet. I listen, or at least try. But with every word he speaks, Mom’s past words come shining through.

  “Good acting is about sinking into the role,” Roger says, while Mom’s voice whispers, We aren’t actors, Rye. We channel to a higher power. To another state of mind. If you can find the place where you don’t exist, where you are only the character you portray, you have found heaven.

  I’d found that place before, the one she talked about. Mom called it pure creation energy, like being the center of the Universe. It was easier when I was a little girl, my imagination huge and open. When Mom died, I lost my desire to act because I missed her so much. Not to mention Dad’s disapproval of all things Riley. But when the chance came to audition for the school production of Romeo and Juliet, Ian insisted. He knew all about my passion when I was little. He knew everything about me.

  I signed up to make him happy, never expecting to get the part. Spent that night whispering with him, how fabulous it was, confessing my dream to be just like my mother, a dream I’d given up long ago. I spent months in rehearsals, split between learning my part and Ian, despite Dad’s loud protests.

  And, the first night of the production, nerves jangling, I finally found the quiet place Mom told me about all over again.

  I was hooked after that, craving the escape into stillness while falling into the brilliant beauty of being the source of a character’s voice. Thrilling, to emerge from it to applause and beaming smiles, to be praised, to hear I was talented.

  Who wouldn’t love that?

  But the best part was always Ian’s smile, his enthusiasm no matter how he felt. Whether in a wheelchair or able to sit in one of the regular seats, he never missed a show.

  Until the last performance of the final show I took part in, just a little over a year ago. When I came out of my character and returned to the real world, he was gone. His parents gone with him.

  And I knew I’d never act again as long as he lived. Which wasn’t long. He’d relapsed, badly, the cancer racing through him this time where once it had taken a more sedate pace. Devouring him from the inside out, at a speed no transfusions or bone marrow treatments could halt.

  Two weeks later he died. And despite my promise to pursue my dream to be an actor, I hadn’t. Until this moment.

  Am I really doing it?

  Someone jabs me in the ribs and I start, releasing a meep of shock. Aleah tilts her head, makes a face and I suddenly realize everyone is staring. Including Roger.

  “Well?” He glares like I’m wasting his time. “Do you own a tongue? If not, the mime class is down the hall in about, oh, never.”

  Everyone laughs. Even Aleah, though she looks sorry she did. I glance at Miller, afraid I’ve embarrassed him, let him down.

  Not everyone is laughing. He looks irritated. Shit.

  “Can you repeat the question?” I’m in high school and he’s a bully teacher making me feel like I’m a smear under his shoe. Roger scowls deeper.

  “In my class,” he draws the words out, “I expect you to pay attention. I do not,” he sniffed, “repeat myself.”

  More titters from the class, though now I’m pissed off. I like this better. I can handle angry. Considering I’m paying him and not the other way around, he can damned well drop the arrogance act.

  “Good to know,” I say before I can stop myself. “When you get to the part that interests me, I’m happy to answer.”

  It takes me a moment to inhale past my own shock. I hate being cornered and pushed around, always have. Roger no longer reminds me of a bully teacher.

  With his face all scrunched and disapproving, he reminds me of my dad.

  More laughter, but this time, the joke’s on him. His jaw clenches. I know he’s going to kick me out. Sharp regret pangs in my chest. But I accept it.

  This isn’t the place for me. But I’ll find it.

  I will.

  To my surprise, Roger turns away, starting up his lecture again. I feel someone touch my hand, look over and up at Miller.

  Who’s laughing silently. Winks at me.

  And I smile back.

  Maybe it is my place after all.

  ***

  Chapter Five

  The lecture doesn’t last long, Roger quickly moving on to splitting us into groups. I leave Aleah and Miller behind, though I’m assigned to the same one as Piper, so at least I know someone. I’m nervous, feel my hands quivering, butterflies dancing around in my stomach. The others are watching me, I just know it. And I’m gripped by the realization I’m going to make an ass of myself.

  Two of the actors step into the center, launch into an improvised scene. I barely see or hear them, ready to back away and leave. As I begin to turn, I meet Piper’s eyes.

  He’s smiling at me, handsome face twisting sideways in a grin, hip cocked in the same direction, chin tucked as he leans toward me. We’re about the same height, making it easy for him to hover his face close to mine. I see his thick lashes, the dark line of his makeup, the sparkle in his pale green eyes.

  “Riley,” he drags my name out so it sounds like “Ryyyyyley.” “Sweetie.” Same draw on the vowel. “You’re awesome.”

  I don’t know what to say, just stare, though I can feel my butterflies retreating.

  “Listen,” he says, ignoring the world around us, waving one finger under my nose, “don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Even if you stink.” He tosses his head, sniffs. “Even if you are the worst actor on the face of this planet,” Piper meets my eyes again. “You.” He pokes me gently in the chest. “Are.” Again with the poke, followed by a soft cheek pinch. “Awesome.”

  I gulp down a rising lump in my throat and manage a smile. “Thank you.”

  Piper’s grin widens before he spins with perfect timing. The center is empty. His hand hooks my arm and, all of a sudden, I’m in the middle. With him. His bubbly persona fades as he hunches his shoulders, lower jaw jutting, lips curved as though he’s toothless. My new friend is no longer a lean Goth, but a little old man with a cranky disposition.

  I see it clearly, as though the character has been drawn over Piper. And instantly sink my own physique, calling up an old lady.

  I don’t remember what we said, how the scene resolved. I only remember returning to the outside of the circle to applause and laughter where Piper hugs me with great enthusiasm.

  “You don’t stink,” he says.

  “You either,” I say.

  The next two hours fly by in a mix of awe and excitement, laughter and the elusive pull of the quiet place. I feel the edges of it, calling me as I become braver, not only at Piper’s side anymore, engaging total strangers alone in the center or, in the end, stepping out myself.

  I know I’m so close, falling into the perfect mental space, when Roger interrupts.

  “And that,” he says while I stare dumbly, drained but invigorated at the same time, “is class.”

  Everyone applauds, myself included, though not for the teacher. For the experience. The weak and weary feeling retreats, replaced by a sense of rightness I embrace with my whole heart.

  Piper hugs me again. “You were mahvelous.”

  I laugh, breathless and happy. “Piper,” I say, “you’re so talented.” I’m amazed how much of a chameleon he’s been in the last two hours. From innocent little girl to action hero to quiet priest all the way to an opera singer belting out an aria, Piper has shown me what I’m lacking.

  He bows to me before straightening and offering a little cutesy curtsy. “I’d like to thank all the little people.”

  Ruben calls his name from across the room, breaking up our party. “I will see you,” Piper says, backing away with a suggestive toss of his hips, “later.”

  I wave, sigh in contentment, already thinking of
him as a friend. I realize then all the others are drifting toward the door. Aleah is head-down with the gorgeous blonde girl who hasn’t looked my way since her earlier arrogant stare. I can’t spot Miller, but I see Piper and Ruben skip toward the exit, singing. I grin and move after them.

  “New girl,” Roger’s voice breaks my happy and turns me around. “A moment.”

  Shit. He’s going to yell at me now. I tense inside. I hate confrontations. Especially now I’ve connected this teacher with Dad. But as I approach, wary and ready to say screw it and leave, he smiles. Like by doing so he’s granting me some kind of favor.

  “I don’t like being challenged,” he says. “But, I do appreciate spunk.” Up close, I can see how he could have been a leading man, once. In the structure of his jaw and cheekbones, the depth of his dark eyes. He’s tall, as big as my father, but unlike my firefighter dad, Roger has gone soft, belly protruding just a little under his tattered sweater. And his jowls have begun to sag, giving desperation to his attempt at being hip and staying young. The faint line of gray hair at his scalp proves I’m right.

  I can’t imagine my father dyeing his hair. It’s just odd.

  “Okay,” I say, about to turn away when Roger closes the space between us, hand reaching out to my arm, to stop me.

  Lingering there until the discomfort grows so heavy I clear my throat as he speaks.

  “You have talent,” he says, voice deep. Is he trying to be sexy? I’m dying inside, partly from laughter, partly from revulsion. “I have an eye for it.”

  “Great,” I say, out of words, needing to just run, but I can’t. It’s as if I’m held in thrall by the touch of his hand on my arm. Sliding down over my elbow to grip it. Still holding me in one place. I’m sure he thinks it’s his charm and dashing good looks.

  Truthfully, I feel so horrified I can’t move.

  “I’d like to offer you some free classes,” he says. Leans closer, close enough I smell the foul mix of cheap aftershave and alcohol, see the stubble he missed shaving, catch the cracks in his teeth, etched with coffee stains. “You can be a star.”

  I hover on the edge of kicking him in the nuts and bolting when an arm slides around my shoulders, easing me free of Roger’s grip. I look up and see Miller, now hugging me against his side, hip pressed to my waist, smiling at the teacher.

  I’m so absorbed in the warmth of his touch, the suddenness of Miller’s embrace, I almost miss the fact he’s not “nice” smiling. More like “touch her again and I’ll kill you” smiling. It makes me giggle just a little. I smother it with my hand as Miller casually turns to me.

  “We’re late,” he says. “As fun as this has been, we should hurry, yeah?”

  I nod, eyes flickering to Roger. I didn’t need to be rescued. I really didn’t. But it’s nice, for a change, to be the one taken care of.

  Roger doesn’t say anything, just watches us leave as Miller pauses only to scoop up his jacket and my purse. His arm slides from around my shoulders, fingers connecting with mine, leading me out by the hand. I’m lost in the sensation of his touch. I still feel his arm around me, the heat of his body. I shiver.

  He must take it as a rejection, releasing my hand as we run down the stairs to the exit. I exhale into the night air, draw a breath and laugh. And Miller laughs with me.

  Aleah looks up from where she waits on the corner, head tilted, smiling. “Share!”

  I shake my head, turn to Miller. “Thanks,” I say.

  “Roger’s an ass,” he says. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you. But it’s a great group, right?”

  I smile, nod. Roger forgotten, my father. Even Ian, for a moment. I hug myself and turn in a circle, knowing I look like a fool before I see Aleah repeat my act. I’m wrong. Not a fool.

  I look like I belong. Like I’m an actor.

  Miller walks down the steps with me, our feet in time on the treads. He laughs as we exaggerate the motion, finally tromping our way, one measured step at a time, to Aleah. She shakes her head, twists her lips in a “hell no, you did not just act like three year olds” kind of way.

  “If you two are done,” she says. “We have places to be. And shit to do.”

  Miller grabs her around the waist, kisses her cheek noisily, blowing a raspberry at the end. “Yes, Momma Bear,” he says.

  She swats him, giggles. Turns to me. “Makes a sister think about trading teams.” She hums a soft tune of approval. “You better watch this boy,” she says. “Or he’ll make you fall in love with his fine, white ass.”

  Why does that hit me so hard? The word "love" breaks my joy, the moment, shatters it. I’m cold all of a sudden, though the night is anything but. I back away a step even as Miller frowns, concern on his face.

  With no idea Ian hovers behind him, looking sad and lost. Like I’ve broken his heart.

  “We’re going for coffee,” Miller says, holds out his hand. Ian doesn’t move, his phantom staring at me with his hurt hazel eyes. I barely hear Miller as he goes on. “Kind of tradition.”

  It’s terrible standing there, seeing two where there’s really only one. It's worse that I want to grab hold of Miller, forget I already gave my heart and lost the love of my life, now hovering and watching as I betray him with a stranger.

  I can’t go through with it, not with Ian’s sad eyes burning through my soul. As much as it would be brilliant.

  I just can’t.

  Miller must see it in my face because he lets his hand drop. Even Aleah suddenly looks upset.

  “Riley Skyley,” she says, singing my name. “Don’t make me drag you.”

  I’m already out of her reach, backing up, tripping over a garbage bag on the side of the street. Ian still stares though I refuse to look over Miller’s shoulder, to see the guilt I’ve manifested in the fake image of my dead boyfriend. “I have to go.” Running is the only solution. Because I have nothing else to offer as an excuse.

  I raise my hand in farewell, feeling the need to do something to wipe the look of disappointment from Miller’s face. “Thank you!”

  Like a coward, I turn and sprint for home while Ian trails behind me.

  I keep my head down, thoughts spinning. This is wrong, I can’t just move on. I barely know Miller. And it’s clear Ian doesn’t want me to. Wait, that’s crazy. I pant out a breath through my mouth. This figment of my imagination doesn’t control what I do. That’s even crazier.

  Reality. I need to ground myself in the real world for this logic to work. What the hell is going on with my hormones some cute guy can make me spin out of control like this? That’s better, clearer, less nuts. I feel Ian is still with me. I know I’m probably totally loony by now. And yet, Miller seemed to be able to lift me out of my memories of Ian.

  Can I just abandon them like my boyfriend never existed?

  And what kind of person did that make me?

  I pause at a red light, halfway home, gulping air as I realize that’s the real problem. I don’t want to forget Ian. I don’t want to stop seeing him everywhere, hearing his whispered voice, feeling his presence when I lose myself in my imagination. If I do move on, if I let myself even consider what might or might not happen with Miller—or any other guy—I’m afraid I’ll forget. That Ian will fade from me faster than he already is. I hate admitting I struggle to remember what his voice sounds like. Why I really only hear him whisper, now. Needing to listen to the few videos I have of him, ones we made on purpose, just so I could see him again. I clung to one of his t-shirts for weeks after he died, but his scent didn’t last, fading too fast.

  The light turns green. Someone jostles me from behind on the way by as I stay still, rooted in my fear and sadness, mind churning. But I’m going to have to let go of him someday, right? I can’t live like this. He told me over and over, until I begged him to stop. He wanted me to be happy, to find love again.

  And yet I’m clinging to his memory every day, calling him up so I don’t have to be alone.

  I shiver, angry with myself, even as Ian’s v
oice murmurs in my head.

  Love you, he says.

  I start walking again, shoulders squared. Stupid, of course I’ll move on. But not now, not yet. It’s too soon. Someday, okay.

  Just not today.

  I pass Ian’s shade at the corner, still watching me with hurt in his eyes, trying not to feel sad about choosing his ghost over Miller.

  ***

  Chapter Six

  I feel Aunt Vonda’s eyes on me all morning. She hasn’t said a word yet, she must be waiting for me to comment about last night. It’s really cruel of me not to say anything, but I really don’t know what to say.

  She finally broaches the topic over our quick lunch, hunched in the tiny staff room out back while I watch the empty front, one foot holding the door open.

  “How was class?” She rushes on as though expecting a negative response. “I’m sure it’s always hard the first time and all. Everyone has to start somewhere.” Aunt Vonda stumbles to a halt, setting aside her sandwich and sighing over her bottle of water. “Was it awful?”

  “It was wonderful,” I say, smiling then, thinking of Piper and his pep talk.

  Aunt Vonda beams before frowning. “I thought when you didn’t say anything—”

  I reach for her hand and squeeze it, the skin soft, her many gold rings digging into her flesh from years of wear. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark. It really was a lot of fun. I guess I’m just trying to decide if I want to go back.”

  The startled look she gives me makes me giggle. “Of course you’re going back,” she says. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  How can I tell her about my fear of leaving Ian behind? Of his sad face as I curled up last night, the soft sigh I felt against my cheek as I closed my eyes to sleep? I know what she’ll say—beyond the obvious “you need a therapist and drugs.”

  That Ian’s already gone.

  I shrug instead, pick at my salad without trace of an appetite, wondering if I really wish it were true. That I could stop conjuring his memory into my own version of life. “It just seems silly, now,” I say. Not meaning it at all. There was nothing silly about last night. “The teacher was a bit of a jerk.” That much is true. “Maybe I’ll look into going to acting school instead of college.”