The Home For Wayward Ladies (33 page)

“I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised,” Robin answers. “He’s got a vim to him that neither of you sad sacks could achieve with a dick in every hole. Look, I don’t know which of you pissed in the other’s ear, but that’s no excuse to mope through a good meal. I was told that the three of you were best friends. The way you’re acting could certainly fool me.”

Eli looks toward Hunter with an alarmingly pained expression. Hunter averts his gaze. He offers Robin a fake smile and shrug. I’ve seen Hunter wear that look before, nostrils pinched, his mouth flattened at the edges. It’s one of silent despair. Eli’s reaction doesn’t take the Rosetta Stone to interpret either. He pushes his chair away from the table and storms out of the room. Hunter is poised to follow, so I grab his arm to keep him where he is- right by my side.

“What?” Robin says. “Was it something I said?”

---

Advancements in hydroponic cultivation to one side, I have never been one to appreciate nature. Unfortunately, the mosquitoes outside the theater seem to be taking this all too much to heart. According the them, I taste great— not that I’m surprised.

My nerves have caused me to chew my fingernails down to the quick. Their un-filed edges don’t scratch my skin so much as tear it. I’ve got welts on my ankles to commemorate every hour of the Poconos I’ve endured- thirteen total thus far. By the time this show closes and I go back out on the road as Bette, I will be nothing more than a festering wound.

I resist the urge to make myself bleed on my quest to seek shelter from the wind. The most crucial stage of rolling a joint is the moment before you slobber on the paper and twist. I’ve already ground down all that’s left of my weed and shimmied it into the folded EZ Wider sleeve. Until that sucker is sealed, my bounty is susceptible to plunder. Honestly, all it takes is one strong fart at an unfortunate angle to carry the particles of kief away in my own rank wind. I didn’t have a chance to pick up more before I skipped town. That means I need to be especially careful with what’s left of my stash, which is currently pinched between my fingertips mid-roll.

The dumpster behind the theater smells worse than our anticipated reviews. Still, it will have to do. At least here I am secluded. Since Robin insisted on sharing a dressing room, I don’t have the privacy I require to call Danny, whom I miss tremendously. One of the many things that Hunter failed to mention when he called me here is that the trees in the Poconos outnumber their cell phone towers by a billion-to-one. For all the wandering I’ve done, I haven’t found a patch of reception strong enough to send a text, let alone carry a call.

Danny stares back at me from the lock screen of my useless phone. This particular picture that serves as my screensaver is one my favorites. I took it on the day he had a car drive us to Coney Island. There we are inside a swinging cage on Deno’s Wonder Wheel. He protested having his photo taken due to “hat hair” but, as always, I won out. Perspiration mars his otherwise exquisite brow and his trademark pompadour is deflated by the rank seaside air. He still manages to look devastatingly handsome. It’s the same face that has been sitting across from me for nearly every meal of the past eight months, two weeks, and six days. I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of it. That must be a sign. I can only hope he feels the same way I do and that our near future involves an enormous diamond ring.

I hear footsteps approach in the brush and I kiss my phone before tucking it away. “Soon, my pet,” I say to it as the rustling of dead leaves destroys the sanctitude of what I thought to be a secret location. I toss the joint and wearily exhale what’s left of its soothing fog.

“There you are, you silly goose,” Mandy says. “I’ve been looking for you all over.” She fans her nose. “Eee-ugh. I should have warned you about those skunks. Be careful out here; it smells like they’ve been spraying again.” Through the aid of scenic paint, her cutoffs look like a piece by Jackson Pollock. It makes for a vivid fashion statement, but she’ll have to succumb to a total overhaul before I can consider her to be any bridesmaid o’ mine. 

“Is Frank done working in my dressing room?” I ask.

“Indeedy-do,” she cheerily replies. “He’s got the lights back up and running. As soon as I find the time, I’ll put glow-tape on the wires he left exposed.”

“I’ll try my damndest not to lick them in the meanwhile.”

Mandy takes my attempt at humor at face value. “Safety first,” she says. “And before I forget— what would you like me to do with the bouquet of flowers that was delivered for you this morning?”

For this, I perk up. “My darling sent flowers?” 

Mandy brushes the matted sawdust from her hair and nods. “My cousin Danny always knows how to impress. Oh, Nicholas, they’re beautiful. I’d venture to say they cost more than the Vallenzinos have paid me in three summers. They’re in the box office. Would you like me to bring them to your dressing room? That might cheer the place up.”

“Leave them” I reply, “I’ll get them myself before the cast gathers for Eli’s notes. It’s important that our director sees firsthand the benefits of truly being loved.”

39

HUNTER

With the Vallenzino family mobbing the backstage, it seems the perfect opportunity to make myself scarce. I squeeze my way through the overcrowded dressing tower toward the stage door. Perhaps the wilderness will offer sanctuary; that way I might be able to hide from my thoughts under the canopy of trees. When I open the door, however, it is not crisp mountain air that I smell. Rather, it is the unmistakable odor of wacky tobacky that billows from behind the dumpster. It’s nice to know that Nicholas has made himself at home. My Lady makes a strong case for the benefits of altered consciousness, but I can’t help but think that our last rehearsal is hardly the time for him to let his guard down.

I quickly double back, thinking it best to find solace inside. At this juncture, I would much prefer the company of ghosts in the theater’s lobby than that of either Ladyfriend.

Cutting through the wings, I find myself faced with an even more visceral threat than secondhand smoke. Eli is standing onstage. He is alone amongst the scenery. Seeing him from my position in the wings, I freeze. I know I cannot make it past him unnoticed; I never could. I can’t think of anything smarter than to fall on the floor in a crouch by the hem of a dusty black curtain. I run my fingers along the safety pins and masking tape that hold the tattered rag together. Tomorrow, the audience will only see this curtain from one side. For them, it has been made to look perfectly intact. It is an illusion. If only they could see it from where I slump, they’d know how worthy it is of being tossed out with the trash.

Like that curtain, Eli appears to be passable, but I know that I’ve left him shredded where my eyes can’t see. My erratic performance yesterday must have wounded him quite deeply. His shoulders carry an immeasurable burden. Unlike myself, however, at least he has the wherewithal to carry on. After all, there is plenty of work yet to do. Even curled into a ball, I can’t ignore the energy of the building as it hurdles us toward opening night. Eli places his palm on the slats of the freshly painted park bench, part of our budget-conscious scenery to resemble Central Park. Mandy must have had an early start because it is haphazardly slathered in whatever color she found in a bucket backstage. It’s not exactly the shade of green that Eli requested but, then again, at the Pocono Show Barn you take what you can get. He shakes his head disappointedly at the paint that’s rubbed off on his hand. Due to the August heat, it isn’t likely to set for days. Until then, that park bench, similar to our costume plot, remains rather tacky.

The dust on the floor suddenly becomes too much for my delicate system to handle. Strange, because I would sooner expect an attack of my OCD. Unfortunately, it’s my stupid allergies that give way. Try as I may to combat the mounting sinus pressure from a sneeze, snot sprays forth without abandon. Everyone within earshot can easily identify me by the sound of my patented “ach-chwee.”

“You can’t hide from me forever,” Eli calls. 

My voice cracks through a glissando, “Hide from you? Why, that’s preposterous. I was merely checking the hem of this drape. Lucky for you I did: there’s a hole here that needs mending.”

“Tell it to join the club.” The wounded warrior grumbles before turning to limp away. I don’t particularly want to stop him. After what I’ve put him through, he’s earned the right to his solitude. Also, it’s hard for me to file a plea on my behalf when my hand is cradling a pool of boogers.

“Can we talk?” I ask, digging through my pockets in search of Kleenex and Purell. “Or do you ‘
vant to be alone’
?”

“Since when did you give a shit about what I ‘
vant
’?” he sighs. “Hunter, look, if you have something to say, then say it. I don’t have time to skulk around here like Greta Garbo all afternoon.”


I try to show him the bright side, quite literally. “At least the power is back on.” It is obvious from his deadpan that the return of electric light has done nothing to defeat his darkness that resides within.

“Spare me the fucking confetti; electricity is the least of our problems. Mandy just informed me that since Teddy and Frank were already here to fix the wiring, they are going to watch the run-through.”

“Oh, no,” I reply, “that can’t be. Nicholas hasn’t had a chance to run his numbers with Vicki.” Eli merely shrugs. “Well, it may not matter much to you, but I have $1,000 riding on this. You’ll have to tell Mr. Vallenzino that we need more time. He can attend the opening, same as everyone else.”

“Slow your roll, big wheel. The only thing I’m telling Teddy Vallenzino is, ‘Yes, sir; right away, sir.’ Hunter, we don’t have any more time- a fact that your performance last night made abundantly clear. I only hope for your wallet’s sake that Vicki dances the tango better than I do.”

His rancor is well earned. Still, it pains me to have caused him such pain. Ever since yesterday eve, my symptoms have been mounting. It started when the tips of my fingers went numb. Now, pins and needles cover every inch of what’s begun to feel infected. The sensation arrests my remaining functions, robbing me of all self-constraint. I look to Eli for sympathy. As expected, he give me none. He meets me with the flexibility of a statue. The judgement I am greeted with has been artisanally carved.

The way I’ve hurt him has taught me a new meaning of “impure.” I want to chain myself to a basin and scrub myself clean. I want to hold my head under the murky water and count until the numbers reach their end. As a choreographer, I don’t often have the chance to count past four. This occasion makes me long for infinity.

The practicality of shame prevails. Tears come to the corners of my eyes and I choke on words that I have not uttered since infancy, “That’s not fair!”

Eli doesn't miss a beat, “There’s the moral of the goddamn story, Hunter: life’s not fair.” 

Just then, Nicholas enters from the back of the house carrying a vase that overflows with a wondrous summer bouquet. “But then again, Ladies, allow me to demonstrate that all men get what they deserve. Take me and Danny for example. The two of you pry me from his loving arms and make me kiss dirt down in the trenches. And would you take a gander at my reward?” He thrusts the flowers toward us as he minces down the aisle. It’s like he’s practicing for what it would feel like to do so with a veil. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over these flowers. Hunter, aren’t they just faboo?” Eli and are dumbfounded. “Hunter?” Nicholas adds, “I’m sorry— am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” Eli sneers, “Hunter and I are through.”

“Good,” Nicholas says, settling his tush into a seat in the front row.

“Nicholas, darling,” I manage to say, “Might it be possible for Eli and I to have a few minutes… alone?”

“I’m sorry, Lady, but I can’t let that happen. It’s just a guess, but a few minutes alone is what started all this trouble in the first place. Now, I’m not exactly sure what happened between the two of you last night, but it seems that another round of peer mediation is long overdue.”

Eli bites his lower lip. His stony visage melts enough to make me do the same. He replies, “Nick, this is none of your concern.”

“Balderdash,” he cheers, clapping his hands like he’s the next contestant on the
Price is Right
. “What Oprah and Gayle do behind closed doors is none of my concern. The two of you, on the other hand, happen to be a little further up on my priority list.” He turns to me like he’s prepared to cast a spell. “Hunter- it should come as no surprise that, after all you’ve told me, I have lost a great deal of faith in our dear Eli. But I still consider you a friend. Sweetie, tell me what that big bad wolf did. Mama’s here now. He can’t huff and puff anymore.”