Little Disquietude (14 page)

"No? Like the one you and Ward are
having?"

"That's different. I don't pine for him."

She laughed, loud and bitter, and hoped the
stage hands weren't listening. "I'm not pining," she said.

"She's all you've thought about all day, and
damnit, Leah, I need you to think about the show."

"Adam--"

"I fought for you. I could have brought
anyone down."

Every word hurt. She walked away from him and
began to pace the stage.

"If you're not going to sleep with her, get
over her," Adam said.

"How do you know I haven't--?"

"You're not exactly euphoric. You're not
thinking straight, and you're not acting, and--" Adam banged the
stage. "--I need a break. If we fail, it's all on you, Leah. This
was your big chance."

She stopped walking and stared at him. He
went up the aisle, to the back of the auditorium. He slammed the
door.

Ward came back from the wings with a Coke. He
popped the top. "Directors," he said.

She closed her eyes.

"Is he like that in New York, too?" Ward
asked.

"This is his first big musical. His break. He
finally found the backers. El dinero."

"Hm," Ward said.

"But yes. He's always like this."

Ward nudged her. She opened her eyes. He
offered her the Coke.

"Thanks," she said.

"He's right, though. You've got to fall in
love with me."

"I can pretend," she said.

"Acting isn't pretending."

She took a sip of Coke.

"I don't mind that you're not in love with
me," he said.

She nodded.

"You should still let everything show. Come
on. Let it hang out." His drawl was more pronounced, for effect,
and he slouched dramatically.

"Are you saying I'm holding back?"

"You are."

"Maybe I just can't do it. I haven't hit
those notes in a week," Leah said.

"Did you really come down to North Carolina
to get laid?"

"No."

"To reinvent yourself?"

"What are you, a shrink?"

"To escape?" he asked.

"All of the fucking above."

"And Adam Grenald wrote it all down for you.
All you have to do is follow along. It's right there. All of your
personal crap, adapted for the stage by Eddie fucking Poe."

"Oh, come on. Not just that."

"Yeah. Follow along, and feel. I know you
feel something."

"So look at you and think of someone
else?"

"If that's even possible, darling," Ward
said.

In the weeks they'd been rehearsing she'd
gotten used to Ward. He was insufferable and demeaning and petty,
but he was predictable and she knew his habits. She'd acclimated to
his presence. And he to hers. He didn't do the things that made her
cringe, unless directed to by Adam, and he listened to her
incessant chatter about New York parties and annoying parents.

He talked mostly about acting, and sometimes
about music, and though she felt she'd kill him if he mentioned
Stella Adler or the outdoor amphitheaters of the Appalachians one
more time, she probably wouldn't know how to act once she got back
to New York and he wasn't rambling on beside her.

And Adam could direct him, could make him
change and mold himself. Harder, softer, shorter, three seconds
more, put his hand an inch above Leah's elbow--no, two inches. Leah
had told Ward he'd be a great television actor one day, where
everything had to be perfect, instead of fluid.

Adam came back from break. His eyes were
glassy and swollen, and he walked with more energy than he'd had
before he left, leaning on the stage and attacking Leah with
words.

She had tried, in her younger years, to make
her blood burn like fire through her body, to scream her
commercials and belt her songs, until her throat dried up and she'd
lost weight and she felt outside herself.

Ward was right; no pretending.

Adam said, "All right. We're going to go
through the entire thing. No stopping, no starting. Full band. Full
voices--goat your notes, Leah, if you want, but don't fucking cut
them off. Ward, use your whole body."

Leah didn't quite make eye contact with Adam.
She looked at Ward, instead, as he went through his breathing
exercises. His face loosened, his expression became more
vulnerable. He dampened his lips.

"After that, fried chicken," Adam said.

"Finger-licking good," Ward said.

Leah was scandalized.

Ward sighed. "Yankees."

"Overture!" Adam shouted.

The conductor raised his hands.

Leah knew where to stand, where to walk, when
to sing. She focused on Ward with her heart and her mind and let
her body's autopilot take over. She missed a few cues, and stepped
on Ward's lines, and forgot one, but no one interrupted her, or
corrected her, or cajoled her. The music led her into scenes, and
she sang, how she sang, looking at the conductor or with her eyes
closed and Ward's arms around her waist. The microphone crackled,
but no one stopped her from speaking. Adam just wrote a note on his
pad. The fourth song's backdrop didn't fall, so they sang without
it.

She was so relieved to sing the last song
that her legs stopped hurting and her throat stopped hurting.
Euphoria filled her. Ward sang his last song to her while she stood
in the wings, meeting his eyes. She cried.

Ward had to turn away, because he was losing
his voice to emotion.

"Brava," Adam said, after they'd finished
curtain call. "If you do it with that much passion on opening
night, no one will notice that it stinks."

"Fabulous," Ward said.

"Let's eat," Adam said.

After dinner there were stage manager notes.
Adam was a cruel master. Leah knew it would only get worse as the
hours ticked by toward opening night, but she was feeling as eager,
if not as strained, as Adam. Sleep would be in short supply.

Tomorrow was the final dress rehearsal. The
press would be there with their cameras and their notebooks, and
there'd be an audience. Leah would miss the empty chairs, and the
sensation of being alone, which added to the sorrow of the music.
She walked back to the house with Ward at ten, leaving Adam to his
manic re-writing of the score.

"Want a soda?" Ward asked.

"I'm just taking a shower and going back
out."

"Where?"

"To see Sophie."

"The girl from the opera?"

"Yes." Leah rubbed her forehead. "The girl
from the opera."

Ward nodded. "I'm going to drink Coke and eat
chips and watch basketball."

"It's summer."

"I've got DVDs."

Leah raised her eyebrows.

Ward shrugged and went into the kitchen.

Leah showered and packed a bag and then spent
ten minutes deciding on makeup or au natural. She finally settled
for lip gloss, and then spent another twenty minutes trying to find
something to wear. She called for Ward.

"Bless your heart," he said. "Asking a man to
dress you."

"Shut up."

He opened her underwear drawer, tossed her
something satin and bikini-cut that he didn't look at too closely,
and then jeans and a polo shirt.

"I look like a gigolo," she said.

"Well, if you were a man, you'd look preppy
casual."

She sighed. "Shoes?"

"Sandals."

"Sandals?"

"You're just going to kick them off, aren't
you?"

"Good point."

He smirked and went back to watching
basketball. As she passed the living room, where he was sprawled on
the couch, under a homemade afghan, the sight was so appealing that
she wanted to stay. The thought of going to Sophia's, having the
talk, or not having the talk, or finding that she'd really prefer
to sleep alone, or that the show had gone badly and she didn't want
to see Leah at all, or that the show had gone so well Leah had no
place in it, scared her so much that she opened her mouth and said,
"I could stay. If you're--"

The look Ward gave her was so piercing and
disdainful, she fled. She was halfway up the block before her
humiliation eased enough to guess that he'd done that just to get
her out of the house. She put him out of her mind.

Sophia was home and there were candles in her
hotel room. They were lit and the second bed had been tidied of
clothes and papers.

"You--" Leah started, but Sophia cut her off
by saying, "You came," and hugging her tightly.

Leah dropped the bag and held Sophia close.
"Ward suggested I'd be safer if I slept elsewhere."

"Is he going to put toothpaste in your
shampoo?"

Leah drew back and frowned at Sophia. "Are
you?"

Sophia grinned. She backed away from Leah and
went into the room.

Leah closed the door and then followed
Sophia. "How was the show?"

A shadow crossed Sophia's face. "I don't want
to talk about the show."

"Okay. How'd you do all this?" She gestured
to the room.

"Oh, in the hour between waking up and going
to work," Sophia said.

"You're already a star," Leah said. "Now you
just need New York." She put her hand on Sophia's neck, intending
to pull her closer for a kiss.

Sophia smiled and moved away. She sat on the
edge of the bed, and asked Leah, "What are we doing?"

"Do you mean, are we--"

Leah felt awkward and out of place in the
room, in the candlelight and Sophia looking sweet and erotic. Her
knees went weak. She sat on the opposite bed, and finished her
sentence, trying to be an adult, with Adam's condemnation in the
back of her mind. "Are we going to have sex?" She wanted to touch
Sophia so much she ached, and ached even more that she
couldn't.

Sophia nodded.

"I really, really want to," Leah said.

Sophia looked at the clock, seemingly for
something to look at, and then her gaze flickered back to Leah's.
"But?"

"No buts," Leah said. She reached across the
space and put her hand on Sophia's knee. The gesture was so bold
she wanted to pull her hand back immediately, but she didn't,
lingering instead, watching Sophia's face.

"We close tomorrow," Sophia said.

"Is that a but?"

"No," Sophia said. She shook her head. "No,
it's just--" She looked away again, and didn't look back. She
hadn't reacted to Leah's hand.

Leah tried to guess the ailment; bad show,
bad day, an attraction to someone new, a realization that Sophia
was straight and wanted children, wanted Ward, or just didn't want
a one-night stand.

Or maybe she did, and Leah was looking at her
wrong.

Leah gave up guessing, and moved to Sophia's
bed, and put her arms around her. Sophia sank back into her
embrace. Leah forgot her list of insecurities as she kissed
Sophia's hair. Sophia exhaled, a sound of release, and became limp
in Leah's arms. Leah kissed Sophia's head, just above her ear, and
decided, "Sometimes it's nice just to be," and said it out loud,
sliding her hands down Sophia's arms.

Sophia turned in her arms, putting her hand
on Leah's side. Leah shuddered as Sophia's hand dragged across her.
Her stomach fluttered. Her skin flushed. Sophia smiled shyly at her
and said, "Be in the moment?"

"Yeah," Leah said. She kissed Sophia, and it
was Sophia who continued the pressure against her mouth, as Leah
fell back onto the bed. Sophia kept their mouths together, slack
and warm. She stroked Leah's waist. Leah raised her knee between
Sophia's legs, to trap her, and the resulting sigh against her
lips, seeming to come from Sophia's whole body. Need surged through
her, demanding more, and she worked her hands down Sophia's back as
they kissed. Sophia laughed against her mouth, and pulled back to
smile down at Leah.

"I guess we are," Sophia said.

Leah lifted her head to kiss Sophia, but
Sophia leaned back further, and waited until Leah put her head back
down, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. Leah wrinkled her nose.
Sophia kissed each eyebrow. Leah worked her hands under the hem of
Sophia's shirt.

Sophia arched when Leah touched her bare
stomach. She kissed Leah's mouth, offering her tongue, rubbing
herself across Leah's hands. Leah sucked on her tongue, and closed
her eyes to the kiss, giving into the sensation of Sophia's skin,
the weight of Sophia's breasts against hers, the way Sophia was
starting to grind her hips against Leah's thigh.

Somewhere close by, a tinny, mechanical
version of "Monday, Monday" began to play.

Sophia groaned.

Leah pulled her into a hug, to keep her on
the bed, but Sophia said, "That's my brother. I told him to call. I
just hoped it would be earlier." Leah let go, going completely
slack, flinging her arms to the side. Sophia climbed off of her,
brushing her abdomen in the process, and got the phone.

"Don't go anywhere," she mouthed to Leah, and
then opened the phone. "Hello?"

At the sound of the voice on the other end,
Sophia's expression became delight. "Hi," she said.

Leah moved up to the headboard and propped
herself against the pillows. Sophia sat down next to her, listening
to the voice on the other end of the phone. Leah could hear low,
male tones, but they were just making a staccato, buzzing sound.
She settled her hand on Sophia's thigh.

The male voice offered a laugh, loud enough
for Leah to hear and then stopped. Sophia started talking. Leah
tried to tune her out, to offer a wall of privacy in the inches
between their heads, but Sophia's voice interested her. She rested
her head on Sophia's shoulder, listening, as Sophia counseled her
brother on love. Leah didn't know if the brother was older or
younger; she tried to picture him from his voice, and ended up just
picturing Donny Osmond.

Sophia became a different person as she
talked to her brother. She was looser, funnier, softer, less
demanding with the mess of his life than she was with her own
monologues. She seemed completely unselfconscious, and Leah stayed
as still as possible not to break the spell.