Page 40 of Come to Me
I have enough anxiety about this all on my own already.
"Sorry," she repeats. "I'm sure you and your boyfriend-"
"Luke," I offer.
"LikeStar Wars?"
"I think like the Bible."
"Well, I'm sure you and Luke like the Bible will be great. He sounds nice."
I raise a brow.
"Biblical?"
She laughs, her nervousness abating somewhat. "He must be great if you're committed to not fucking someone else for six months."
We make small talk through our coffee and end up ten minutes late. Nicole, the play director, reminds us to get here earlier next time, but she doesn't dwell on it.
The first few hours of rehearsal are tough. The other actors, especially Ellen and Nicholas, are seasoned theater actors. They know their lines inside and out. I'm finally off book, but I'm still struggling to really make the words my own.
By the end of the day, I have a little footing.
Nicholas gives me a discreet thumbs up when I nail a line I've been having trouble with. I smile back, appreciating the gesture of support.
I'm still out of my league, but I'm not quite so overwhelmed.
I can do this.
I can absolutely do this.
* * *
The week passes quickly.Ellen invites me out most nights, but I decline. From the way she talks, I can tell she's not exactly a bastion of moderation.
I talk to Luke for a few minutes before bed every night. We're both too tired to say much, but it feels so good to hear his voice.
I spend the weekend rehearsing in my apartment. I know Luke would mock me or tell me I work too hard, but he doesn't understand how out of my league I am. I was in a few plays when I first moved to Los Angeles, but it's been years since I've seriously done any theater.
When I finally call it a night, I realize I haven't eaten dinner. I barely ate lunch. But it's nothing. No big deal. I've done enough recovery that I don't have to obsess over every single thing I eat or don't eat.
Come Monday morning, I am ready to kick ass and take names. I get to the theater half an hour early, bursting with energy. I am finally up to speed. Finally where I want to be. I understand Blanche-- she lost everything she cared about. Her secretly gay husband killed himself after she caught him with another man. She's an outcast, but she denies it to herself, hiding behind a veneer of superiority. She claims to put great value in sexual roles and manners, but it's a lie she tells herself, to help herself understand why life failed her so utterly. She's insecure, desperate, terrified of losing her only value in the world-- her beauty.
The only thing that lifts her up is attention from men. It doesn't just make her giddy. It reaffirms her belief that she deserves to exist.
People read Blanche as weak, as pathetic sometimes. But she's not. She's a woman in an awful situation, doing everything she can to hold it together. But her real self keeps sneaking out.
I put everything in rehearsals and the director praises my dedication. I'm proving my competence. Finally.
Ellen invites me out once more, but before I can refuse again, Nicholas steps in.
"Come on," he murmurs. "You've clearly been working hard. It's good to do something else, give yourself some room to breathe. And I'll be there too—I promise to keep you safe from Ellen's party mode." He grins at me as Ellen scoffs.
"Whatever. But he is right about getting out once in a while," Ellen agrees. "It's not healthy to just live and breathe the theater. It can consume you. Gotta let off some steam."
They convince me. And I know Nicholas isn't off the rails like Ellen, so I feel a little more comfortable going.
They keep me busy all night.
