"Rehearsals, A Ficlet", by Gratiana Lovelace, June 19, 2014 (completed)

"Rehearsals, A Ficlet", by Gratiana Lovelace, June 19, 2014

She enters the stage door quietly and moves to find a secluded spot to review and practice her lines when she is startled by someone speaking to her.

Stage Manager:  “You’re in quite early today, Miss.  That is, except for him.” 

The Stage Manager tilts his head to the tall man standing off in the shadows of the theatre wings, leaning against a ladder [(2) right].  Her eyes instantly follow the intended direction and stop, mesmerized. The man’s beard that he will need for this role has only just begun to grow. So he looks relatively clean shaven.  And she is quite taken aback at how young his being beardless makes him look--compared to the hirsute role he inhabited until recently, wherein he portrayed a character several hundred years old.

The Stage Manager leaves to attend to his duties.

She:   “Oh! Hello.” She greets him courteously, controlling the quiver in her voice.

He: “Hello.”  He replies laconically.

She thinks that were he wearing spurs, he might resemble a British Clint Eastwood--taciturn and brooding, without the cravat or the breast plate chain mail and sword.

***

Neither takes a forward step toward the other.  Rather, they each step to their left--he away from the ladder, and she toward an open hallway leading to the dressing rooms.  She briefly looks back at him over her shoulders.

Now he startles.   He wonders does she want me to follow her? He has to retrieve his script in his dressing room anyway, so he falls into step behind her.

Her guileless eyes widen upon her beautiful unadorned face--her resolutely facing forward [(3) right] --as she hears his foot falls behind her. They do not have to walk too far to reach their destinations.  As the play’s leads, their dressing rooms are near the stage--a perk, as is their dressing rooms spaciousness and their private bathrooms.  They pause at their respective doors opposite each other, their backs to each other--not daring to turn back to glance in the others’ direction.

He closes his eyes with his back to her.  They cannot do this, the kiss.  He can’t do this. He feels much too old for her. Not that he thinks she is a child--far from it--nor does he feel that he is ancient.  But he believes that his handsome leather clad swain days are behind him.  However, whether he is wearing leather, a tux, or casual rehearsal clothes, she finds him to be effortlessly handsome--and he is not vain about it which is endlessly appealing.  She is almost trembling in anticipation as she places her hand upon her dressing rooms doorknob. She turns the door handle.

He hears the click of her entry into her dressing room--and then there is a pause as the door to her dressing room pushes open with a rush of air.   He hears items being dropped onto a chair, and then the door clicks shut again.  He opens his eyes and places his hand upon his own dressing room door handle--opening the door only enough to permit him entry, but no further.  His intention being to slink sideways into his dressing room--as if he were a wisp of smoke seeking an avenue of escape.

Then he feels the soft weight of delicate hands and arms upon his back [(4) right].     He knows that it is her. He stills and says nothing--tensing up, waiting to hear what she wants of him--with her body pressed to his serving to unsettle him. 

She had not expected him to be so gentlemanly about the kiss--not seeking her out to do the deed. Her experience with other actors--albeit during her drama school studies--have been that they tended to be ribald, sexually explicit in their remarks, and fiercely magnetic.  And yet his magnetism comes from his courteous exchanges, his silence, and his stillness. She finds him mysterious--not the least of which is that he has not turned around with her pressing herself to him. She realizes that she must speak first.