The Interview

Chapter Nineteen

Making a small sound of disbelief, Glinda answered.

"Look, I'm sorry Elphie," she sighed. "I don't think I can help you right now. I can't think properly, unless I'm undistracted and really in the moment. And at present"—she cast an irritated glance at her blank spreadsheet—"I'm afraid I'm in the middle of something else.

"No, Monday isn't good. I can offer you Wednesday?

"Great. Take a rest until then if you can. But if you can't help yourself, I guess we'll just sort out the resulting mess later."

She grinned at that, considering herself sassy for suggesting that Elphaba might ruin the piece if left to her own devices. Before this very morning, she'd taken her for some kind of infallible genius, too smart and articulate to even comprehend. Realising that even the great Elphaba could become tong tied sometimes narrowed the perceived gap between them somewhat, made Glinda feel at least a tad less inadequate next to her.

Her smile faltered at the next question she received. She bit her lip as she mulled it over.

"Yes, I guess I could stay the night," she eventually replied, not without a measure of reluctance.

Elphaba seemed satisfied with that and finally wished her a restful night.

Glinda replied mechanically, then hung up. Slowly, she moved her hands to press the phone against her chest while her unfocused eyes remained trained on the same spot. Chewing the insides of her cheeks, she reflected on how happy she ought to be to see Elphaba again so soon, and to have been invited for an overnight stay to boot. Strangely, however, she couldn't really decide whether to look forward to the unexpected sleepover or dread it.

She'd forgotten to ask, but fervently hoped Shell wouldn't be there. That was one reason. A fair reason. She also didn't want it to interfere with her work week, but if she retired early enough, this should hardly pose a problem. Her main concern was a strange one: she felt exhausted. Exhausted from dancing around her desire for a serious relationship with Elphaba, simultaneously trying to hide and encourage it. Exhausted from dealing with the effect Elphaba's proximity had on her. After the intensity of their last weekend, she'd found herself in oddly eager anticipation of boring everyday life and a reprieve from anxiety, heart palpations and overstimulation.

Well, so much for that.

* * *

"Okay, can you give me a quick rundown before we start?" asked Glinda, script in hand, skimming the first few paragraphs.

"Certainly." Crope cleared his throat melodramatically. "So, Lark is a young man—criminally handsome, but dirt poor. When the Glikkun Wars begin, he enlists for military service to feed his mother and his siblings. His father is long dead, by the way. He does surprisingly well and rises up the ranks, finds a gorgeous girl. During the yearlong truce, they get married and so on and so forth, she falls pregnant, all that sort of stuff. But when the war recommences, he goes back to the front, performs some heroics, ultimately saving hundreds of comrades, then gets killed in the process."

Glinda arched an eyebrow.

"Fun," she deadpanned.

"Don't you rain on my parade!" he scolded, playfully hitting her arm with his bundle of pages. "It's gonna turn out great, you'll see."

"Very dramatic," she said, nodding along with a mockingly grave expression.

"Exactly. I live, breath, exist for the dramatic."

"Yes, that's for sure," she agreed with a smirk. "Fine, let's get started then. From the top, I suppose?"

The melodic ring of her phone alerted her to a new text, but she pointedly ignored it. Whatever it was about could surely wait until after the practice session she'd promised Crope.