Page 10 of Witch Please

“Exactly.” I passed her a box of Reese’s Pieces from the tin, and held up the bottle of Pimm’s in question, and she enthusiastically raised her glass in response. “And, in regard toMacbeth—how canBurlesquehelp inform how the witch would utilize those skills to drive her points forward?”

She popped a few Pieces into her mouth while thinking about the question. Since we’d begun our movie marathon she relaxed significantly. At the start of the first movie, she’d sat squarely in her “corner” of our sofa, legs crossed, folded more intensely than a piece of origami paper. Now, two movies and one and a half glasses of Pimm’s in, the hood of her sweatshirt was firmly tied over her head, supposedly to ward off the “chill” from the blowing air in the room. She lounged, legs supported by her bag, her cardigan balled up behind her head, getting dangerously close to snuggling me.

“The witch needs to know when to step on the gas and force an issue and when she needs to tease it out of him. For example, she knows that power is the way to get him to move into action, but at the same time if all she does is go to the well telling him over and again power, power, power—eventually he’ll stop listening. So she needs to show him the benefits of power—as one would show a little leg before covering back up again.”

“Brilliant!”

My enthusiasm wasn’t manufactured. Whether it was how quickly she caught on, or how excited I was that my plan actually worked exactly as intended was a question I’d save for further examination at a later time. The point was—she grasped the concepts and could apply them. I couldn’t wait to see how they molded into action over the weekends’ rehearsals.

Poison Ivytoed the line into the taboo and was more thriller than romance, but Drew Barrymore’s character gave me witch vibes. Every once in a while, through the movie I would sneak a glance, like a teenager on his first date. Pathetic, I know. I was drawn to watching her reaction. There were scenes in the movie that I thought for sure would have her blushing and making embarrassed exclamations about how inappropriate they were. Instead, she watched in rapt attention, a focused study of the hedonistic twists and turns of the film.

“Given the age of the film—I mean Drew Barrymore is what, twenty? I understand why you’d show it. The balance—the push and pull—of sexual depravity, sexuality, and sensuality—she is the witch personified.”

The cozy atmosphere, the alcohol, the endless reel of sexual titillation between the three movies, I could point to any one of many singular moments that could have been the reason. Throw in how absolutely adorable my little mouse looked beaming with pride that she’d “gotten” the lesson I’d set out to teach—and I was action without thought.

Never mind the fact that we were on campus. Or that we were in a public space easily accessible by seven different doors. More than likely possessing a few security cameras in various spots throughout the space. None of that mattered in that moment. The only thing that mattered was the remembrance of her mouth against mine the night previous, the ache in my cock imagining her in every tawdry scene in each of those movies, and the semi-private nature of our couch.

It couldn’t have been more than two or three seconds and a single kiss erupted into an inferno. One moment we were lips and grasping limbs, the next I had her in my lap, spread open across the throbbing ridge of my jeans, riding to her conclusion at warp speed. My mind had barely caught up to my body’s actions, and her back was already arching and body shaking as she shattered in the most glorious display.

The moment she began to float down from her release, the air shifted. What had been heated with passion moments ago, now bore the chill of awkward regret. The first peek into her embarrassed detachment shone in her eyes. Where the green had glittered like a jewel just moments prior—they had deadened to the wintery green of a pine forest.

“I’m…oh my god…I can’t believe…” She rocketed up from my lap, gathering her things as she rose. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

Chapter 9

Mortified. It fit rather well. I felt like I needed a stronger word, but I was in such a state I couldn’t come up with one. What waswrongwith me. I had an orgasm, dry humping Sebastian, in a public building, on campus, at the place of my employment. Could I even blame the Pimm’s if I’d only had a glass and a half?I didn’t even give him a chance to make a comment, or for me to make it awkward by my just general every day weird library girl personality. I grabbed my bags and high tailed it out of there.

Today, with the morning clearing away any remaining sexual haze, I seriously debated giving up full tenure to transfer to another university instead of having to show my face at two full days of weekend rehearsals. Shit. I really messed up. I should have called him last night after our study session. At least to recognize the effort he’d gone through to make me feel comfortable in this stupid role I never wanted.

I brought coffee and Muriel’s donuts with me to practice. I hadn’t quite decided if they were a peace offering or a bribe for Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. At some point over the course of the day we’d be back to mock threesomes.

“And our witch has finally arrived, so we can get started.”

The very moment the first piece of my body entered into the room, Sebastian was calling everyone to stage to begin. I checked my watch. A quarter ‘til, and yet he acted as if I’d been holding up the progression of the entire day.

“Places. We start at the top—Imogen, please. That’s you. Pay attention.”

Everyone still chatted amongst one another in groupings throughout the theater. My hands, still full of coffee and donuts—which Sebastian couldn’t have missed—apparently made no difference in this scenario. Kennedy rushed up to me grabbed them from my hands muttering something about Sebastian being in a mood. I wish I could play dumb and say I didn’t know why he would be.

“Dr. Pilar, perhaps you didn’t hear me. While I know we have made a big deal about you being central to this play—that doesn’t mean my schedule or the schedules of everyone sitting here are at the behest of yours. I won’t tolerate a diva.”

Kennedy locked eyes with me over the box I handed off to her. Her round eyes broadcasting total panic that she may somehow also draw the ire of Sebastian if it somehow took us longer than a football snap to transfer ownership of those donuts. Rather than make some comment back at Sebastian, I hustled up the stairs to the stage, script in hand ready to open the show. I quickly searched for Travis as I mounted those stairs, and realized he wasn’t in the theater. Which meant I’d make it a whole seven sentences before we’d need to stop and wait for him to arrive.

“Travis isn’t here yet.” Franklin thankfully made the announcement taking the dagger for the team. “What’s the purpose of having Imogen up there when in half a scene we’ll need Travis.”

“Because I’m the director.”

He remained glued to his seat in the sound booth. His shoes were propped on the lip of the counter. Vans. That surprised me. He rocked his chair at a ninety-degree angle as if challenging gravity to fuck with him. He wore Lennon-esque circular tortoise shell glasses that I wouldn’t have expected would look good on his face. They made him look both dashing and intimidating simultaneously.

“From the top, Imogen. I want to see if you’ve worked any on setting the tone. It’s up to you to tell the audience in your four sentences that this iteration will be none like they’ve ever seen or experienced. You are sensuality. You are titillation. Your voice alone needs to draw them in and make them hang on your every word. You are the alpha and the omega. The beginning and the end. You bring them in and escort them out. Now show it to me.”

There was an interplay of the traditional lines from Macbeth in places but also modern lines to create kind of an explanation in layman’s terms of what they could expect. For someone so used to the traditional play it was hard not to break out into the opening line we’d been so used to hearing over the last seven years.

“At the setting of the sun, a battle lost a battle won. Macbeth will thrice call my name: Power,Ambition, and Destiny proclaimed. Tragedy. The fire of desire attracts the heat of the flame. The fallibility of humanity provide lessons to gain.”

“Cut!” Sebastian shouted from his perch. “Imogen.Sexy.Seductive.” He rapped his script against the palm of his hand as an exclamation point to his words.

“You’re reading your lines like the Sunday morning book review. Please find the passion. Where the hell is Travis? He’s supposed to be entering upstage at line three.”

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