The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

Enter Acting

Previously: "Love, Prescott Style" 

Go to Intro to Acting class, or practice a scene with Laura?

You ought to go to class, but "rehearsal" is just too juicy an excuse to pass up.

"Yeah, sure," you tell her. "Where do you wanna go?"

"One of portables, I guess," she says after a moment's thought.

You feel a rise. The old, abandoned portables are a hang-out, make-out spot at the school, and there are plenty of stories of sexy shenanigans out there during school hours. No way Laura has that kind of thing in mind, but your own mind can't help going there.

The portables—there's almost a dozen of them—are arranged in a double-row horseshoe, and as usual, there's a couple of knots of kids hanging out in the "courtyard" between the two arms. You recognize the guys in the biggest group: Justin Roth and his cronies. Perry Small. Spencer Osbourne. Ben Gunnison. And Jamie Rennerhoff.

Your neck muscles tighten at the sight of the latter. Not too long ago, he plopped his skinny ass into a seat next to yours, smirked, and asked, "What was in the coffin?" And even if the weirdness around "Clover Mystery" has shrunk massively in significance in the last twenty-four hours, you've not forgotten. If you were yourself, you might try steering Laura in another direction. But you forcibly remind yourself that Chris likes most of these guys, and though he thinks Rennerhoff is annoying and even a little creepy, he's definitely not afraid of him.

"Love, love, love," Spencer chants when he sees you. (It's the usual greeting that Chris gets from fuckwits who only know him casually. It used to aggravate him, but now he just ignores it.) "Siddown, man, and share the love."

"I'm busy," you say. "But the fuck are you doorknobs up to?" Justin is smoking a cigarette, and looks too stoned to really be paying attention to anything, while Small restlessly rakes his fingers through tufts of grass, pulling at them. Gunnison, a husky, cheerful soul, grins emptily up at you. But Jamie wears a cunning grin as he glances you and Laura up and down.

"We're doin' the thing out at Colson's after school," Spencer says. He's not the psycho asshole that Rennerhoff is, but his grin is nasty enough, and you've always felt that, if he's not as awful as Rennerhoff, it's because he's just a lot more subtle about it. "You and Laura should come out and do the thing with us."

"We got rehearsal after school," you reply. "We got rehearsal now."

"Now?" Gunnison asks.

"Scene's not going, and Laura wants to work on it."

"What, here?" says Spencer.

"We're gonna use one of the portables. There's a class using the theater."

There's a hanging moment. Then a ripple of amusement runs through the group. (Except for Roth, who has put his head back and shut his eyes.) You ignore it, and touch Laura on the shoulder to propel her forward.

"The thing?" Laura asks in a near whisper. "What's 'the thing' they're doing at Terry's?"

"Ah, nothin'. That's just Osbourne trying to sound big. They're gonna hang out, do some weed, maybe order a pizza." You point down the alley leading between two of the portables. "Let's take one of the ones in the back."

"Maybe we shouldn't have—" Laura starts to say, but you've already rattled the door of one of the portables, and it swings open. She looks very doubtful, then plunges past you, up the short wooden steps and inside. You follow and close the door behind you.

A stench of mildew, rotten wood, and rat droppings envelops you. Some portables are in better shape than others—or so Chris's memories tell you—and this is one of the worst. It is empty of furniture—others still have desks and chairs in them—and the floor in one of the far corners has rotted away completely, leaving a gaping hole. "We can find another one," you suggest, but Laura shakes her head and says, "We're already here, let's just do it."

She ponders a moment, then crosses to the center of the portable. "Audience," she says, pointing to a wall pierced by a row of dirty windows. "You enter from there." She points to the door, and you cross to stand expectantly in front of it.

For a long moment Laura stands stock still, head down, in a furious concentration. Then with a quick, sharp breath she raises her head and declaims, in a voice dripping with poisonous courtesy:

"Oh, hello, Maggie. I knew you must be around somewhere. How are you, my dear?

"Blah blah blah," she then adds in a quick, bored voice. "Who's that? Bert? Come in, Bert. Miss Lorraine Sheldon."

That's your cue, and you saunter up as though returning from a walk around the block.

"How do you do, Miss Sheldon?" you say. You grin, cocking your head and lifting your chin so as to show the "audience" your profile. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you glimpse shadows moving across the windows, but you ignore them.

"How do you do?" Laura says, returning to her earlier style of delivery. "I didn't quite catch the name— Jefferson?"

Out of the corner of your mouth, you growl in a low voice, "That's right, pet."

Laura gasps deeply—much more deeply than she ever has in a rehearsal before. Her eyes flame with surprise and lust, and she takes half a step back. Then she charges at you.

"Why, Mr. Jefferson!" she exclaims in a deep, throaty growl. "You don't look like a newspaper man! You don't look like a newspaper man at all!"

"Really?" you squawk, for she has caught you off guard with this over-the-top delivery. "I thought it was written all over me in neon lights."

"Oh, no, not at all!" She looks you up and down greedily. "I should have said you were a— an aviator or an explorer or something!" She puts out her hand as though to touch your chest, but only hovers it there. "They have the same kind of dash about them! Oh, I'm simply enchanted with your town, Mr. Jefferson," she cries out, "it gives one such a— a warm, gracious feeling." She hugs herself. "Tell me, have you lived here all your life?"

You stare at her. She stares brightly back.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"I'm doing the scene," she says. The hunger on her face hangs there.

"Uh— Did Charles tell you to dial it up all this way?"

"Pah! Just play it, Chris! Skip to 'suppose I drop you?'"

You bite your lip, then decide that if she's going to play it like a burlesque skit, you should too.

"Thank you!" you exclaim, and clasp your hands to your chest before sweeping one arm through the air, like a machete through a bamboo patch. "But I've got my car! Suppose I drop you?"

Ice crystalizes in Laura's eyes, but she presses on. "Oh, would you?" she says, with much less melodrama than you put into your reading. "That'd be lovely. See you in a little while, Sherry." She slips her arm into yours before glancing over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Maggie!"

"Farewell, Maggie, farewell!" you exclaim to the same empty spot that Laura addressed. "Perchance I'm invited back for—"

"Come on, Mr. Jefferson!" Laura almost pulls you off your feet. "I want to hear more about this charming little town." With her free hand she paws your shoulder as you walk offstage. "And I want to know a good deal about you, too!"

You both stop short at the portable door. After a moment, you ask, "Okay, what was that?"

"It was the scene."

"Uh, don't you think it was a little too much?"

Laura shrugs. "Well, sure. But I'm trying to find the emotion. And then I'll cut things back."

"What emotion?"

Her face falls.

"Lorraine's emotions!" she exclaims. "For Bert!"

"I didn't think— Lorraine's just acting with Bert."

Laura's eyes pop.

"She is not!" she exclaims. "Where did you get that idea?"

"But it's just a scheme. By, uh, Sheridan Whiteside." You point to an empty spot, as though Charles Hartlein—who is taking the title role of the play—were sitting there. "You know, he's trying to bust up me and Maggie, and he brought you in to—"

"But Lorraine loves Bert!"

"I thought she loved Lord Bottomley."

Laura returns you an exasperated look.

"She loves his money, Chris, and his title. But Bert— Well, it's there in the line." Laura dances her fingertips up your chest. "''You look more like an aviator or an explorer!' Bert gets her— Mm!" She shivers all over. "Going."

Your skin prickles all over. "Did Charles—?"

"Oh, fuck Charles! And fuck you guys!" she yells at the window as she flies at. Shadowy faces have been bobbing outside it for the last minute or so. They vanish in a ripple of giggles and squawks. "It's my scene and my character," Laura says as she turns back to you, "and this is what I say!" She stares at you, breathless.

Then her expression turns grim. "But yeah, after rehearsal yesterday, Charles told me I was underplaying. So I'm trying to find the— the emotion. The reason—"

"Did Charles say anything," you interrupt, "about needing to get something out of the Eastman storeroom? Yesterday."

She blinks. "No."

"He didn't tell you to meet me and ... and Elle and Jack Li out there, to help get some stuff out?"

"No," she says. A wariness comes over her.

"Or Leah? Leah Simmons? Did you text her about—?"

"What are you talking about?"

Is it worth telling her about the DMs that you and Chris got yesterday, from her and others? She'll just deny sending them, the way Leah denied being out there. That's why you haven't bothered to bring them up yet.

Next: "What Laura Had to Say" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 4)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)"