To Be or Not To Be: The Actors Read online

  Maggie took a step back, her eyes flickering the tiniest bit. “Of course. I mean, I’ll be in yoga for an hour and then I’m hitting the steam room and a massage so if you’ve got some other things to get done…” She shrugged.

  Was there ever a time they liked being around each other? “Maggie, it’s okay if you don’t like working out with me.”

  “It’s just the amount of attention you get from women at the gym, Trevor. I mean, Jesus, it’s more than I get from men.” She shook her head. “It gets really annoying to be around you sometimes.”

  He nodded. Truth was, he hated the gym and he hated the attention he got. The only exercise he really liked to do was run. “Tell you what.” Trevor placed his hand on Maggie’s arm and steered her toward the door. He couldn’t get rid of her quickly enough. “You go to the gym, and I’ll give you a call in the morning.”

  Her eyes flashed with relief. “K.”

  He leaned down to kiss her quickly, while gazing at Jenna. She turned away.

  Once Maggie had left, Trevor noticed Jenna was down to two companions, the actors playing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern—the only single male actors in the show. This was work, damn it. Not play time. Those guys didn’t need to be hanging around his Ophelia. Not wanting the show to be compromised by some stupid cast romance, Trevor walked over.

  “Hey, Trevor.” The two remaining men shook his hand.

  “Guys.” Trevor nodded. There was nothing for him to be worried about; Jenna was too serious to mix business and pleasure. Look at the way she handled her audition, telling him off like that. No, she took it all way too seriously to screw around. He shifted his weight, his shoulders broadening.

  “We’re going to take off.” Rosencrantz smiled at Jenna. “Should we wait for you?”

  Trevor held his breath.

  “No. Thanks.” She shook her delicate head and her hair bounced around her shoulders. “I’ve got to pack up my stuff. Thanks, though.”

  As the guys left, an unexpected warmth fell over Trevor, like when the sun hit his shoulders while running in Central Park after that first spring rain. He smiled at Jenna and she cleared her throat, picking at her fingernails nervously. She did a great job during the read-through. What could she be anxious about?

  “Nice job, Jenna.”

  “Oh, uh, thanks.”

  Jenna moved past him and back to the conference table. She stuffed her script and notes into her old canvas messenger bag. Her movements were rushed, like she couldn’t get away fast enough. Was it because he was her boss or was she still pissed about the audition?

  “Um, uh, you, too.” Jenna closed the flap on her bag, some of the papers sticking out of the sides.

  “Thanks.”

  She tossed the handle of her bag across her shoulder and a strange feeling of urgency shot through Trevor.

  “How are you getting home?” Trevor ran his hand up through his messy hair.

  “The train.” She shrugged.

  “Oh, don’t do that. I’ll drop you off. I have a car. Want a ride?”

  “What?”

  He glanced at her sideways, smiling. “It’s not a trick question, Jenna. I have a car. I can give you a ride.” Trevor leaned in closer.

  She shook her head, backing away. “Oh, uh, thanks…but…” Her cheeks reddened as she spoke. She glanced over his shoulder. “Um, thanks, anyway.” Jenna wheeled around again and left the room.

  I have a car? I can give you a ride? What the hell was he doing? How would he feel if Maggie jumped into the car of some guy she just met…? His chin dropped to his chest. Truthfully, he wouldn’t care. Not in the least. As long as she was safe, of course, it wouldn’t matter to him if she left him—for good.

  He raised his head and looked over the empty conference room. It had been a long time coming, this schism with Maggie. They always had a lukewarm relationship, probably because Trevor never intended to have a relationship at all, but now Trevor itched to get away. Was it because he was finally breaking free of Caspian for a period of time to play Hamlet, or was it because of Jenna Joyce?

  It didn’t matter. None of it mattered because he still had years left on his contract as Caspian and walking away would be a disaster. His shoulders weighed heavy as his secret, lifelong dream of producing summer stock in a theatre somewhere upstate slipped even farther from his grasp. There was no way. He was in too deep. Too many people were relying on him. He just couldn’t mess it up.

  ****

  Adrenaline coursed through Jenna. She just couldn’t go home but she really didn’t want to go to the diner. Besides, Luis wasn’t working and she had taken an extended leave for rehearsals. She looked at her watch. It was just after six. She knew there was only one place for her to go. Don Oleesa had an acting class starting at seven. Maybe he would let her observe.

  Jenna walked down the side street heading to Don’s studio, inhaling the cold New York air, longing for the feel of a theatre—a real theatre—a little black box, with some uncomfortable seats in the audience and no props on stage except a few wooden boxes. She lived for the feel of just such a theatre, the magic of working so intimately, the experience of reading what was in the other actors’ eyes, the absence of a state-of-the-art sound system. Of course it was good to have money to stage your production, but having so much money, like Trevor—well, whose art could survive commercialism?

  Don probably hadn’t eaten dinner yet so Jenna ducked into a chain health food store on her way. Normally, she liked to cook for him, like she used to cook for her mom and Olivia, but tonight she had no time. Feeding Don Oleesa had become a thing she did a couple of times a week since his last doctor’s appointment when he was warned his blood pressure was too high. As Jenna ladled hot chicken noodle soup into a container, she smiled, imagining Don at his doctor’s appointment, hunched over, speaking to the doctor who was only a fraction of Don’s age, explaining “heightened” blood pressure was an occupational hazard when one worked in the theatre. Jenna knew the doctor’s response: that was all fine, but for a man in his nineties, it was give up salt or give up the theatre.

  Grabbing a hunk of cornbread, Jenna hurried through the checkout and out onto the street. She pulled her coat around her, and braced herself against the cold as she scurried down the street to Don’s studio. She dashed through the front door of the converted industrial building and rushed up the four flights, not bothering to wait for the elevator. She quieted her racing breath as she pulled back the tattered black curtain and stepped inside Don’s acting class.

  Immediately, she was welcomed with the heart-warming scent of mildew and wood—the smell of an aging, well-used theatre. Jenna slipped in as unobtrusively as she could, and as quietly as possible. She placed her food bag on the small metal riser next to Don’s chair. He, never missing a beat, peeked at her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Come, come.” Don held out his hand for Jenna to sit beside him.

  She slunk over and propped herself on the riser next to him. He reached down and took her hand; his hand was warm and gentle. His skin was crepe-like from age and his veins were bulging, easily traceable with her fingertips. He gave a small squeeze, and she squeezed back. It felt so good to be here, with Don, in a real theatre. Her tense shoulders relaxed.

  Don scribbled notes ferociously as two actors performed a scene from a new piece opening regionally next month. All too soon they were through and the actors took their place at the center of the tiny stage, waiting for their critique. Both looked haggard and exhausted. Jenna knew this feeling well—acting—real acting, good acting—was nothing short of a possession. You have to leave yourself behind, and become someone else for awhile. It was a hard thing to do, defeating even excellent actors, sometimes.

  “Huh.” Jenna leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. She had really never thought of it before but Trevor had been successfully doing this nearly every day of his life for the past ten years.

  “Remember Hemingway,” Don said and smiled. Coughing, he
put up his hand, taking a moment. “Take his brilliant words as advice—be strong in the broken places, my friends.”

  The actors turned to one another, inhaling sharply. They knew what was coming.

  Don began to make his way to his feet. Jenna stood with him, guiding his elbow and offering him his cane. Nodding his appreciation, he shuffled down, and took his place in the center of the stage, the place that had been his home for more than seventy years.

  Jenna beamed at Don as he spoke. His critique was poignant and compassionate. Any actor receiving Don Oleesa’s evaluation was a lucky actor.

  When he was through, Don shuffled back to rejoin Jenna in the audience, and she offered him soup.

  “Chicken noodle again?” He didn’t bother to look into the cup.

  “You’ve been fighting this cold for weeks. Chicken noodle’s the answer. Besides, it’s low salt.”

  “It’s no flavor.”

  Jenna smiled as he dug into his soup. “Does this help?” Jenna held out a large piece of cornbread.

  “Did you bring butter?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then it doesn’t help.” Don winked at Jenna and turned his attention back to the stage.

  Before she realized it, it was nine o’clock. Don turned his wrist to look at the oversized watchface with the giant numbers. He lifted his glasses to look again. “Does that really say nine?” He turned to Jenna, holding up his wrist.

  “Yup.”

  “Good Lord, time goes faster and faster.” Don shuffled back to the center of his stage, facing his adoring students. “And with that, ladies and gentlemen, we part. Until next time.”

  Jenna smiled. This was the same farewell Don Oleesa had given in every one of his classes, forever. The eight students grabbed their scripts and coats. A couple of actors said, “Hi,” to Jenna as they passed by.

  Not moving from the stage, Don turned to her. “So rehearsal didn’t go well?”

  “It went okay, I guess.” Jenna bounded onto the stage, joining Don, kicking the theatre floor with the toe of her boot.

  “Jenna, you will be an excellent Ophelia. I’m certain of it. Are you having trouble with anything in particular?”

  Jenna thought long and hard. What could she say? She couldn’t stand her costar, because he was annoyingly rich and handsome? Because she had personal issues with him? Because he was so incredibly handsome and talented he made her nervous?

  She took a deep breath. Trusting Trevor—again—meant betraying the memory of her father. But this job meant securing her future, and her sister’s future, as well. At least for the time being. As Jenna went over it in her mind, it was all ludicrous. She knew what Don would tell her: there’s no room for personal issues onstage. Find something, anything, in the other actor that’s attractive, and use it. Well, there was plenty for her to find physically attractive about Trevor. Jenna shifted her weight from foot to foot. But was there anything about her he could find attractive in return?

  “I guess not.” Jenna stared at the ground as she spoke.

  Don reached out and took her hand. She looked up at him.

  “Go get some sleep, Jenna. You have an early call time tomorrow. Come back to me when you’re ready to commit to this show.”

  Jenna began to speak but Don stopped her. “You’re not ready. You’ll know.”

  ****

  Jenna plopped her bag on a chair, pulled on a rehearsal skirt, and slipped her jeans off from underneath. Today was the day to rehearse the nunnery scene, arguably the most important scene in Hamlet and Ophelia’s relationship, and the scene that had exploded during Jenna’s audition. It would just be Trevor and Jenna onstage, with only Larry and Maggie in the audience. Trevor didn’t have an understudy; he was the reason they were selling tickets. Without him, the show would never fly.

  Jenna rubbed her temples, trying to soothe her dull, throbbing headache. She took a deep breath, it was now or never. Leaving her script on the chair, Jenna stretched her arms overhead and climbed up onto the stage like a prize fighter entering a ring before a championship bout.

  Her heart raced when she spotted him approaching from the wings. As he grew nearer, she turned away. Damn, he was handsome and he had this aura around him. If she didn’t know everything she did about him—his lack of a soul, his insincerity, and his worship of money—he would be so, so easy to like. He walked onstage but didn’t acknowledge Jenna. Was he avoiding her? Jenna shuffled her feet, and the skirt swayed around her. It didn’t matter. She didn’t like him and couldn’t like him but hoped there was maybe some tiny part of him that liked her. That would make their performances more believable. Trevor stood downstage, facing Larry.

  “All right, Hamlet, Ophelia. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Jenna’s head thumped in response.

  Trevor turned to Jenna. “ ‘Where’s your father?’ ”

  “ ‘At home, my lord.’ ” Blood rushed to Jenna’s cheeks at the disconnect in her bones. He delivered his next lines competently, but where was the passion? The fire?

  “ ‘Heavenly powers, restore him!’ ” She moved closer as she spoke.

  Trevor turned and stepped aside.

  Mercifully, Larry stopped them. “All right, guys, come on over.”

  As she walked downstage, self-awareness swirled in the base of Jenna’s spine, crippling her instincts. She was tight and self-conscious. She was awful, and she knew it.

  “It’s just not happening for me.” Larry plopped his script down and sat back, crossing his arms. “Technically, you’re both solid. But emotionally…passionately…the reason we put butts in the seats…it’s just not there. Any ideas?”

  Trevor sat, hanging one leg off the proscenium stage. The other he bent, resting his elbow on his knee. He looked self-assured and sexy, even though the show was falling apart around them. He turned to Jenna. “I’m not feeling you in the nunnery scene like I did when you auditioned. What’s going on?”

  Maggie looked up and stopped filing her nails.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry.” Burning heat rose in Jenna’s cheeks. “I—I’ll try harder.”

  “No!” Larry jumped out of his seat, shouting in frustration. “That’s the whole thing. You’re trying too hard. Both of you are trying too hard.”

  Jenna’s ears burned.

  Larry walked over, staring up at the stage. “This can’t be fixed by me or Shakespeare. It’s something that’s too—”

  “Glossy.” The word sneaked out and there was no way to take it back. Jenna clenched her jaw, facing Larry.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Sorry.”

  “No, tell me.” Larry stroked his chin. “What is it?”

  Jenna sighed. She would probably get fired, so what the hell. She was awful anyway. As much as she hated it, she had another plan and it was called a backup plan for a reason. “I think we’re too glossy. Too slick. This whole thing”—Jenna turned in a circle, pointing to the theatre space—“is too slick.”

  “Tell me more.” Larry leaned in to listen.

  “I think this whole production is too neat and clean and shiny.”

  “Like a soap opera?” Trevor raised his eyebrows, daring her.

  “Your words, not mine.” Jenna leveled her gaze on Trevor and then turned back to Larry. “I mean, who rehearses in a theatre like this? A lot of actors work in rehearsal spaces until the week before. This is too much. We’re all too comfortable.” She shook her head. “Personally, I feel like an overly made-up drag queen. My Ophelia’s got so much going on the surface no one would ever guess what’s beneath.”

  Trevor let out a laugh that startled Jenna. She turned to him, spotting the crinkles around his eyes. One corner of her mouth turned up into a smile.

  “And you know this from your vast experience in off-off Broadway?” Maggie snapped.

  “Maggie…” Trevor admonished.

  Trevor glanced at Jenna, and his gorgeous eyes softened. They weren’t fake or conniving. They were just co
ncerned. It was too much. She refused to be pitied, and anger surged through her chest. “No, you’re right. I don’t have the experience you, or anyone else here has. But what I do have is talent. That’s why I’m playing Ophelia. So if you don’t mind, my director has asked me a question, and I’m going to answer him without your rude interjections.” Crap, she hadn’t realized she was harboring that much anger. Maggie didn’t deserve all of that. Some of it, but not all of it.

  Maggie glared at Jenna. She stood purposely and walked down the aisle toward the stage. She stopped in front of Jenna, stretching, highlighting the difference in their bodies. “I’m gonna take off, if that’s cool.” Maggie batted her big eyes at Larry. She placed her hands on her hips, and posed with one leg out.

  “That’s fine,” Larry dismissed her quickly and turned back to the stage. “Okay guys, tell me—”

  “It’s not like I’m going to learn anything here,” Maggie said in a snippy voice.

  Trevor shook his head at her. He walked back upstage, script in hand, as Maggie exited the theatre door.

  Jenna watched her go and her booming headache was replaced with a cramp in her belly. She really hadn’t meant to be the cause of any strife between Trevor and Maggie.

  “Jenna, what, exactly, are you talking about?” asked Larry.

  “The truth?”

  “Please.”

  Jenna nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “I think we should be rehearsing in a place a lot less extravagant.”

  “Go on.”

  Jenna glanced back to see Trevor. “And I think we should all get our hands a little dirty. Take bigger risks.”

  “I can’t say I disagree.” Larry nodded. “Trevor?”

  “I think it’s worth a try. It can’t be any worse.”

  Jenna swallowed hard, happy he was feeling it, too. If they both acknowledged the problem, they had a chance at fixing it. Trevor walked downstage, standing close to Jenna. Her body responded to him in an odd way as if he were electrically charged, and she were being shaken by his vibration. She moved a couple of inches away, just to stay focused.

  “Jenna, any ideas?”

  She glanced at him—at his eyes. Something in them told her he needed this show to be a success just as much as she did and every moment she held onto resentment and anger was another moment wasted. They needed this show to be good. They needed to be good. Together.