“They do already look down on us,” I said. There were a couple of the faculty that were cool, but too many of themselves considered themselves real professionals of the theater, and that was enough reason for them to make bitchy little remarks about our ambitions or thin resumes.
“That’s what I want to make sure of before I accept the role, I guess–will you have a problem with me doing it?”
“With you being naked up there on stage? No. Wow. I don’t think so, Liz,” I said, then joked, “Only that I wouldn’t be up there with you. But I’ll have the best seat in the house.”
“It’s nothing too bad,” she promised, though I didn’t need to hear it to trust her. “I would be topless. And in my underwear. Skimpy little panties, I’m sure. I’m supposed to make love with Brett–he’s the smooth-talking playboy that Leigh runs off with at the end of the first act. It’s not too weird, is it?”
It kind of was, but I couldn’t say that. I assured her it would be alright. The only thing I worried about was that Liz wasn’t just a student at Gates College–she was an instructor, too, and while the faculty would probably forgive a topless scene in a paying production, especially on stage instead of some cheap film project, I expected she was overlooking how odd it would be to have to look these people in the eye after they had come to see her play. Maybe she would try to keep the play itself a secret before word got around.
“You’re so supportive, babe. Seriously. It’s wonderful having you there for me. I love–” Her breath stopped, like she had been choked silent, and I was looking for something to say to change the subject and help her avoid embarrassment. Liz came through faster than I did. “I love… just… how you’re always thinking of me.”
“I am,” I said, smiling and feeling a bit more relaxed. “I love talking to you.”
That was as far as I was willing to walk out on the tightrope. Maybe tomorrow I would feel the strength to go further. Or in the far-off future that had no date, when I had parted with Emily.
There was a knock on the door–the bathroom door. I froze and stuttered a bit, telling Emily I would be out in a second.
“I gotta go. It’s Em.”
“Oh, shit. Tell me tomorrow if I got you in trouble. I really hope I didn’t–”
“Okay. Bye.”
As much as I hated to speed Liz off the phone, I had an emergency to deal with. I put the phone in one pocket of my pajama pants, where it bulged obviously, and hoped she was just too sleepy to notice it.
When I opened the door, though, it looked like she was awake. Wide awake. Maybe she had been listening for minutes. I rubbed my eyes and yawned as I stepped out.
“Hey, babe,” I said, moving past her, headed back toward the bedroom again.
“Who was that?” I didn’t answer immediately, like I had to think about what she meant. “Who was one the phone? You were on it a long time.”
I maybe thought about it too long, but answered honestly–semi-honestly. “Just Liz. She was really excited about this part they offered her in a play. It’s a real play. A pretty big deal.”
“Oh, But it’s late. That’s Liz, I guess,” she said, laughing a bit as she went into the bathroom. “Do I have anything to be jealous about?”
“Of course not, babe. What do you mean?”
That last question, that impulsive cover to make it sound like I had never even considered Liz as someone I wanted to be with, that probably tripped me up. If I hadn’t have asked, Emily probably wouldn’t have felt so empowered to challenge me.
“You know–are you fucking her?”
“No,” I said, thinking only after I answered hastily about the fact it was true. Emily was still hedging her bets with her tone, knowing she came off as unattractively jealous with her suspicions, and she already thought she was probably wrong, but jealousy can force a person to speak their worst thoughts out loud. I laughed and turned away from her, then went back to the bedroom. Emily called out that she had only been kidding as she closed the door.
I laid in bed, in the dark, and didn’t notice for a few minutes that the cordless phone was still in my pocket. I grunted and took it out, then set it on the nightstand. Then, I got out of bed and went back to the hallway, standing outside the bathroom.
When Emily the door again, she was startled to find me there. I was leaning, one hand propping me up on the door jamb.
“I haven’t fucked her,” I said, again spelling out the truth. But I went further. “We’ve done other things. We’ve kissed.”
I broke her heart–I could see that immediately. Why did I think it would be alright to tell her? This was going to fuck up both of our nights. Maybe our lives, too.
She thought for a moment, staring blankly at me. Then she whimpered a little and only said, “Fuck you.”
Emily pushed past me on the way back to the bedroom. I waited a moment to follow, but found the door locked. I couldn’t even get in to get a blanket so I could sleep on the couch. But compared to the damage I had done, with little or no forethought, I probably got off easy.
* * *
We had a play to put on Friday and Saturday night, and nerves run frantic, even for a pretty laidback production like our student show. I didn’t bother telling Liz about the truncated conversation I had with Emily the night before, not keeping it a secret, just waiting for the time to give her the news. Maybe I did it as much for myself, which probably comes as no surprise. I wanted to keep my focus on the show until both nights were over, then I could widen my eyes to accept different objects in my landscape.
I met Liz for lunch, and like I said, I didn’t want to burden her. She was excited, talking about the play she was probably going to do–she hadn’t said yes yet, she wanted to wait until Sunday to get back to them. All she said about the show we were excited to do was that she and Albert were getting together to work on it. I knew she was encouraging, she a nurturing spirit like some people completely lack as instructors, especially in theater, where people assume students either have talent or they should give up. That didn’t seem like enough to help their scene, especially when the problem was with Albert more than her, though maybe the writing was just bad.
“I know ours is the worst one in the show,” said Liz, and she ignored my attempts to make her feel better about it. “It was good when I first read it. We did some rewrites on it, not that I’m bragging, it’s not like I wrote anything, in practical terms. It seemed to be getting there. I tried talking him into doing it nude last night and I thought he was going to pass out just thinking about it. You know all that bravery and bluster he keeps laying on thick? Surprise, surprise, it’s all for show. He hates his body and he can’t even concentrate when he’s out there in a speedo. I think it shows.”
“It does,” I admitted. “I feel a little too bad for him to laugh. He’s got all the comic lines and the space between them is hot helping it be any funnier. I’m not sure anyone could make it work better–but you’re funny in it.”
“That’s like saying my side of the plane is flying well while the other one is scraping the ground,” she said, eating a few french fries as she shook her head. “We’re crashing bad. That’s why we’re getting together to work on it.”