Page 5 of Witch Please

While each student or faculty introduced themselves, I watched Imogen note their name and role in her binder. Having seen binders from previous productions she also noted whether they were students or faculty, broke them down into departments for faculty, majors, and dorms if they were students, and also made notations on something that made them notable—if they were from out of state, were here on an acting scholarship or a sports scholarship, if they had done Shakespeare work prior, etc.

As we continued around the table snaking back towards me, I could see her trying to work out the few remaining people yet to be introduced and watched the gears in her head spinning. They were all men, and two of the five were part of the production team. I watched her check her list, glance at those who had already gone and fit them to their roles and tasks, and count and recheck against who was in the room. I knew she’d already worked out that there was a significant role yet to be introduced and could see her growing concern for the lack of introduction. She checked her phone, I would assume to see if someone sent her a last-minute excuse for being late or absent, and then opened her laptop; I’m once again assuming to check the posted cast list to see if she’d missed something.

“If you are experts onMacbethor have been with us for previous iterations you may be wondering what happened to a significant piece of the play. There wasn’t a mistake—we don’t have a last minute drop out. When Franklin and I considered the candidates for the role we realized that in order to carry off this new version ofMacbethwe needed someone who knew the story backwards and forwards—because in our modern telling, the witch is a very significant piece in the storytelling and arc of the story. She is the one who pushesMacbeth. She is his inner thoughts, his hidden desires, his base need to seek fame and glory. She is seduction personified.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t get that feeling in any of the students who auditioned. There was nothing that told me these young women had command of the content or the confidence to pull off the girth of this role. Therefore, I’ve decided to do something totally unconventional. Which, seems to be the name of the game this year anyway right?”

Those around the table chuckled, looking around as if the witch would materialize out of thin air as if herself imbued with magic.

“I’ve decided that our resident Shakespearean expert, Dr. Imogen Pilar, will be my perfect witch.”

Chapter 5

Everyone around the room looked at me and started clapping and smiling in my direction. I’m sure they figured I was in on this decision and wasn’t in the process of being completely blindsided by this. I had zero desire to be in his production. Or any production if we’re being honest. My god, I didn’t even sing in my car to the radio—what made him think I’d be okay withstanding in front of thousands of people reciting Shakespeare. Just no.

“Before we all settle in for a table read and blocking instructions how about we take five minutes to grab some water, use the restroom, and get ready to settle into Act One.”

Sebastian released the cast and as if anticipating I’d be a ballistic missile launching towards him, stepped into the foyer as I approached.

“Professor Doyle, a word.”

I grabbed his arm before the doe-eyed freshmen began to surround him and bat their eyelashes at him.

“Are you insane!?”

The moment we were out of earshot I launched into a diatribe that would rival a Shakespearean monologue.

“In what world do you think it’s okay to voluntellsomeone that they are taking the lead in a play they never even auditioned for? Never mind the fact I’ve never in my life had any desire whatsoever to beina play.”

He just stood there, a sly smile on his face while I continued to rant and rave at him about blindsiding me, not asking me, and disrespecting me by inserting me into something with zero discussion. The fact that he wasn’t saying a single word as I continued to whip up into an apoplectic word tornado only spurred me on further. Then the bastard went andsmiled. Not a smirk, or a twitch, but a full toothed, wrinkles at the eyes,I’ve told you the most hilarious thing on the planetsmile.

“Geenie, if I were to pull out the script right now, flip to any page and begin reading, your lips would start moving and you’d recite it right along with me. I know because I’vewatchedyou do it. You know this play backward and forward. I don’t need to worry about you needing time to learn and memorize lines because youalreadyknow it. Having intimate knowledge of each role and the interplay between them all makes you the perfect witch.”

The way he said the word intimate. It felt whisper soft, like the most salacious of secrets. It caressed me all the way to my core. He was Mephistopheles made man, sitting on my shoulder enticing me to do things I shouldn’t.

“Knowing the words and being willing to stand in front of thousands of people to recite them are nowhere in the realm of the same interests. I am a librarian and a scholar, Sebastian. Not an actress.”

Not to mention the fact that seduction and I didn’t exist in the same hemisphere. Ireadthe great works of love, passion, and sacrifice. I’d never actually experienced anything grand and sweeping. I lived in New Hampshire for god sakes. Most of my dates consisted of two for one meals at the Chili’s followed up by a movie in the winter or mini-putt in the warmer months. I was lucky to get the occasional fumbled, groping, barely satisfying sex, and a tepid promise to do it again. I did not inherit that feline grace some women seemed to have. The soft purr of their voice, the seductive glances they doled out like candy, or their self-assured sexually weighted smiles. All of which combined to guarantee them amazing sex lives, men falling at their feet, and sweeping gestures for attention that I could only fantasize about.

“Geenie,” the entreaty in his voice pulled me from my downward spiral of self-recrimination. “In my interpretation, the witch is a pivotal character. Ineedsomeone that I can trust, who knows the lines and role well enough to be able to synthesize it on the spot. All of these kids don’t really understandMacbeth. Sure, they understand it on a surface level. They may have written a paper on it at some point. But they don’tgetMacbeth. You do.”

I wanted to tell him no way in hell was I getting up on a stage for thousands of people to point and laugh at. There were lots of phrases and excuses spinning around in my head on various ways to tell him to go pound sand. Not to mention the slideshow my subconscious flashed behind my eyes, demonstrating all the ways I would make an absolute fool of myself and become the laughingstock of Dartmouth.

“You went quiet.” Sebastian’s hand on my shoulder sent a shockwave of sensation through my whole body. Clearly, it rode a tide of adrenaline that made it hyperaware. “And you’re chewing your lip. Does that mean you’re considering it?”

“Sebastian, I might know the script, but I can’t act. I’ll probably lose tenure over my laughable performance.”

“Geenie…Imogen…Dr. Pilar…” he shifted his weight, leaning back against the door jamb, the script in his hand being slowly strangled between his fists as he twisted it. “I’d like to think over the course of the last seven years we’ve become more than just colleagues. Haven’t we?”

He possessed a devil’s smile. Despite warning bells chiming an oncoming nuclear fallout, my insides still melted when he dialed up his charm to full power. Had we been friends though? Other than a few months here and there when we orbited in the same solar system, wouldn’t a friendship require more than a passing awareness of one’s existence? Of course, my brain didn’t think about that point of fact. It simply told my head to nod in agreement.

“I need a friend right now. I know we got off on the wrong foot this year. I snapped at you and I’m sorry.” He caressed my shoulder with the tube he’d strangled the script into. “You and I both want this to succeed. We want to shrug off the weight of Dr. Krane’s legacy and make something new. I should have recognized how similar our desires are.”

Beneath the silk of my blouse my skin erupted into gooseflesh. It was because the fabric was soft, and the way the paper rubbed against it tickled my skin. It had nothing to do with the fact that Sebastian could turn on and off that sultry high English accent on a dime. He knew I was a total sucker for it. I swear if he ever asked me to fuck him in that sultry British whisper, I’m near certain a single objection would never surface.

“Geenie…”

He’d been calling me by the pet name for a few years now—incorrectly might I add, again. I’m not certain how it ever came about. He was the only one who ever called me Geenie. My mother abhorred nicknames, so I’d always corrected people. The usual attempted nickname had always been Mo, Sebastian’s nickname notwithstanding.

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