Dress Rehearsal

In a world of interconnected stories, this one is only tangentially related to my other tales. Observant readers will recognize the name of the panel moderator in here and the hotel they're staying in, but other than that? These characters are all completely new. I'm entering it as part of the Valentines Contest here on Lit; make sure you read all the entries and vote up your favorites!

* * *

It would be nice if I could claim they picked me up from the airport in a limo, which then whisked me to the Bayside Suites for a complimentary pillow mint. But no: my limo was an older Prius, from before you could plug them in, and my Bayside Suites was just the local Petrotel. The student behind the wheel let me off with a cheery wave and a promise that he'd come pick me up again at eight the next morning. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr Durgin."

"Great. Listen, is there some kind of meal voucher or something?" I'd done my homework, and the Petrotel Adams West was actually supposed to have a decent restaurant. I stepped over a pile of slush outside the bold red facade.

The kid just blinked. "Like, on a piece of paper or something?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, giving him one of those smiles people expect actors to give. "I'm just curious. And hungry."

"I think you, uh, charge it to the room? The University is paying the bill, so I guess we'd pay that too?" He clearly had no clue, so I just reached out for a handshake.

"I appreciate the ride," I nodded, and that moment gave this kid one of those memories he'd probably tell his friends about in his cinema studies workshop tomorrow. "Take care, okay?" I couldn't remember his name, which bothered me slightly.

"Oh, sir! Mr Durgin, it's been my pleasure." He beat a hasty retreat after that, his eyes shining from my praise, no doubt on his way to find a place to hyperventilate. I mean, I'm nothing special, but ever since the Kimball nomination, people at events like this had been falling all over themselves to kiss my ass. I peered around the lobby, which actually looked pretty nice, and then crossed over to the registration desk. "Hi. I'm Erik Durgin? I'm checking in as part of the Monroe State film panel?"

The woman behind the desk had a nametag that advertised her as Veronica, a cute face under a riot of curly hair. She had a nice smile, but I couldn't see any recognition in her eyes. That was fine. I'm really only famous among folks in the industry, and Veronica was not. "Yes, they called ahead. We're expecting you. Just fill this out and we'll get you upstairs." Her hands moved in practiced motions, sorting among the registration forms, the keycard, and a few brochures. "Our restaurant does a special Valentines meal, Mr Durgin, in case you're interested. Our chef, Jules, is locally famous."

"I'm alone," I smiled, "and I'm not from around here. I don't know that a romantic dinner is in the cards." I thought of asking her whether Jackie had arrived, but figured that would be rude.

She shrugged. "They booked eleven rooms in your hallway, for the symposium. Maybe you'll find someone you know?" She turned and grabbed a brightly colored gift bag from the back counter. "These are cute," she laughed. "What's with all the hearts on the bags?"

"The panels are all about love in movies," I told her. "All different aspects. They're inviting a bunch of people with experience in how to write, direct, or depict different kinds of love on-screen."

"Yeah?" She seemed mildly impressed. "And you? Do you write, direct, or depict?"

"I write now. And I produce. But I'm here because of a movie I acted in about ten years ago." I winked. "It had a famous sex scene."

She was definitely interested now, her eyebrows rising toward her mane. "Really? Ten years ago? What movie?"

"Cynthia Fades? It was a small movie." I watched her dark eyes carefully for any hint of recognition, and when I saw none I was equal parts chagrined and relieved. "Not many people saw it, but it was pretty important in the industry."

"Awesome. I'll have to check it out." She tucked my keycard into the slot and smiled to herself when she noted the room number. "Room 303, Mr Durgin. Don't hesitate to give us a call if you need anything, and really, the food's great at the restaurant. Give it a try."

"Thanks, Veronica," I smiled, tucking my brochures under my arm and dragging my bag toward the elevator. It had been a long flight and a painful layover in Charlotte, so I was thinking a shower might be nice. And then? Sure. I'd see what Chef Jules could whip me up. I had scripts to read while I ate. Maybe the locals would realize how important I was, I laughed to myself as I waited for the elevator.

* * *

"Well. Look who's here."

I put the script down and smiled even before I turned my head, because I'd expected her to arrive. She was why I'd taken a table so close to the lobby, the reason why I'd sat facing the doors. Hell, she was one of the reasons I'd even agreed to do the panel discussion in the first place. "Hello, stranger." It had been seven or eight years since I'd seen her. "Take a seat and have some dessert with me."

She looked amazing, like she always had, but then actresses usually do. I knew she'd been working steadily, mostly on Broadway, which meant she had no choice but to look amazing. She stood in a long quilted winter coat and a frazzled hairdo, and even like that she outshone most of the rest of the world. I felt my grin come naturally, automatically, unguardedly, and it only widened when I saw the same smile on her face: she was happy to see me. "Can I pee first, Erik?"

"I'll save your seat." I thought about getting up and hugging her then, but the dynamic wasn't right. And she still had a hand on her luggage. "There's a restroom by the bar. You can leave your stuff here?"

"I'm peeing in my room, Erik. I'm not a barbarian." She hesitated, glancing around, then cocked her head. "How are the rooms?"

"Not bad. Clean." This was going to get awkward soon. I needed her to be sitting, smiling, sharing my space, not standing in a heartless limbo of transition. The scene was not the one I'd had in my head. "Go on up. I'll be waiting."

"Okay." Her grin went a bit wistful then as she turned to go, her free hand swinging the same symposium gift bag I'd left by my TV upstairs. I'd seen a few other people grabbing the bags during my meal, but other than a couple of guys I'd worked with on TV a few years ago I hadn't known anybody. I knew Alex was supposed to show up for our panel at some point, but the fact was that Jackie was the only person I'd been looking forward to seeing anyway. "See you soon."

"Count on it." I watched her salt-crusted Uggs walk away, forcing myself not to ogle her in the glassed-in elevator as she rose up to her room. There was no point in being a creep, especially since I hadn't talked to her in years. I'd had her contact information once, but I'd had my phone stolen. Besides, you know how it is: unless you work with people consistently, you just lose track of them.

Until they appear ten minutes later at your dinner table, winter coat gone but with their hair hastily brushed. "Seat still open?"

I smiled and slid my script under the napkin, crossing my arms as I looked across at her. "Hi there, Jackie."

"Erik." She was still smiling, that sweet face of hers that the camera loved... I started wondering why I'd never tried to cast her in any of my projects. "I was hoping you'd be here for this little panel thing. It wouldn't make much sense if it was just me."

"Or just me," I laughed. "I think Alex is going to make it too. He was supposed to, anyway." I eyed the waitress, wondering how long it would take her to notice my new arrival. "How was your flight?"

"Delayed," she sighed. She glanced around. "I've never been to this part of the state before. It's nice, from what I could see driving over."

"Kid in a Prius? Nervous?"

"Yep." She yawned. "Said he'd be here at eight to pick me up." She chuckled as I passed my coffee cup over to her. "You've already had half," she pointed out, "and I don't need your germs."

I shrugged. "We might never see the waitress." I paused, weighing my words; she was married now, I thought I'd read. "And you've had my germs already."

Jackie's eyes lit up. "The elephant in the room arrives early," she murmured, but she was still smiling.

I smiled at the waitress as she delivered my tiramisu. "Oh!" she said brightly, her eyes flickering over Jackie with the time-honored contempt of a woman who sees a more beautiful woman. "I didn't realize you had a guest!"

"He didn't," Jackie smiled back, "but you can bring me a coffee. Cream, one sugar." She glanced down at my dessert. "And an extra fork, please."

"Why, sure," the girl breezed, all saccharine and cotton candy, drifting off. I rolled my eyes.

"Extra fork, hmm?"

"You're going to split with me, Erik," she nodded, "because you're right, I've had your germs."

"In that case..." I took a spongy bite of my tiramisu, then handed her the fork I'd just used. "Be my guest."

She laughed, a sound of delight that took the airport tiredness out of her eyes and replaced it with that old mischievous sparkle I'd known years ago. "Thank you, Mr Durgin," she purred, stabbing at her own bite. And that was how the tiramisu was halfway done before the waitress returned with Jackie's coffee.

"Oh." She let a little too much annoyance cross her face as she laid down Jackie's gleaming fork. "I'm sorry you thought it took too long."

"Not a problem," Jackie winked. "The tiramisu is delicious, by the way. Tell your pastry chef it's amazing."

"Sure will, ma'am." The girl plunked her coffee down with bad grace. "Anything else for either of you?"

"I think we're good." I was swept away again, unable to stop smiling, the years melting away like a sugar cube under hot water. We watched the waitress sashay off, giving her rump an unnecessary extra sway. "I'm not sure she likes you."

"She probably wanted to head upstairs with you," she giggled.

"Nope."

"Nope?" Her eyebrows rose. "You're a good-looking guy. You know that, right?"

I smiled. "Not interested. She seems annoying."

She smiled, a little more faintly than before. "Is there a Mrs Durgin? I have to admit, I haven't read very much about you. Except the Kimball Awards thing."

"That was a huge shock," I nodded. I'd never expected to be nominated, especially for a script I'd thought was so shitty. "People buy my scripts now without even reading them. It's been insane."

"I was in a Tony-winning show once or twice," she nodded wryly, "so I know how that gets." She raised one plucked eyebrow. "You're dodging my question, Erik."

I handed back the fork. "There was a Mrs Durgin. She decided not to be Mrs Durgin anymore."

She nodded, eyes still twinkling. "I can't imagine why."

"Well, you never knew me all that well," I shrugged, and that was true: the shoot had only been about three weeks. We'd seen each other once more, a couple years later at the premiere for a film I'd exec-produced, but other than that? "I'm apparently difficult to live with."

"Good thing I never had to, then." She scooped up one more lump of dessert. "Sure you don't want to kill it?"

"All yours." I was happy just to be with her. I'd forgotten how badly I'd crushed on her. "It's so nice to see you." I hoped my voice hadn't dropped too far, too creepily, and when she glanced up at me through her eyelashes I figured it had. "Just... it's been awhile."

"Since me? Or anyone?" She forked the last piece deliberately into her mouth. "I'm thinking I might have to watch out for you, mister." She wasn't mad, though. Not at all. "We should have worked together again," she mused.

"I'm a producer now," I pointed out, feeling my pulse quicken. "You still using the same agent?"

Her smile softened. "I'm booked already. Big revival next year, the Fosse one on Broadway." She nodded when I raised my eyebrows. "Yeah. It was a real score. I'm a little lucky."

"You're an excellent actress," I snapped, waving my hand. "Any production would be lucky to have you."

She lowered her head and looked as if she wasn't sure she should speak. "I think my best work is behind me," she murmured, "by about ten years." I leaned back, my chair creaking, waiting until her eyes rose to meet mine. "What?"

I took a deep breath, my eyes flickering toward her left, the diamond that glimmered there. I shook my head. "You're crazy. You're really good."

"I get hired," she nodded. "That's good enough." She yawned, her whole face contorting. "Fuck. Long day. So what are we going to say on this panel tomorrow? It's been awhile since anyone asked me about Cynthia Fades."

"Once upon a time, it was all anyone wanted to talk about," I agreed. We stared at each other a few moments, remembering. "It was a whirlwind."

"Yeah," she sighed, stretching her arms high, "ten years ago." She yawned again. "I'm exhausted. She probably brought me decaf."

I hesitated, completely unsure of her. Of us. Not that there'd ever been any us, really. "What room are you in?"

"310, I think?" She peered into her purse, rummaging briefly. "Yeah. 310."

"I'm in 303." I took a deep breath. "Can I walk you up?"

She held back a smile. "To where, Erik?" She let the smile bloom now. "It's an elevator ride. I won't get lost."

I threw my hands up. "Look, what am I supposed to say? I haven't seen you in like eight years." I gnawed at my lip, then said it. "I missed you."

She looked skeptical. "You could have called."

"My phone got stolen."

"I'm an actress, Erik." She sighed as she gathered her purse and yawned once more. "I'm not hard to get ahold of. Your agent could have called my agent, for example." She stood wearily, then her smile came back. "Come on. You want to walk me up? Walk me up."

I looked up at her, my heart pounding. "Nah. I changed my mind."

"Fuck you."

I laughed as I got to my feet. The surly waitress, back in that hazy golden past before she'd turned into a bitch, had told me she would bill the meal to my room, so I figured I could just vanish. I'm sure she saw us, though, the restaurant thinning at nine o'clock at night, the two of us walking slowly toward the glassed-in elevator. By unspoken agreement we let the first one go, all full of people, and waited in smiling silence for the second elevator to come down. "I love a see-through elevator," she confessed as we boarded. "You can people-watch the whole lobby as you ascend. It's how I picture it must be like going up to heaven or something."

"This?" The doors shuffled closed and the lobby lurched as we started to rise. "A Petrotel in West Adams? This is heaven?" We laughed, the car rising slowly up to a third floor with its trash can overflowing with the same Valentine-y gift bags we'd been given downstairs. Apparently our fellow symposium attendees were not appreciative. I thought of a line, a cheesy one, about how she could find heaven in Room 303... The doors dinged, though, and the sign on the wall beyond told me that 303 was in the opposite direction from 310.

"I'm good from here," she yawned, and all I could see was the ring on her finger as she turned, her smile radiant as it ever had been. "Thank you."

I turned too, and that's how I got my hug at last, her body supple in my arms for those few seconds before it could get awkward. And then she went right and I went left, only to masturbate furiously on the stiff hotel bed.

* * *

The Prius the next morning was a strained, quiet place. The continental breakfast had not been actor-friendly, meaning it had contained lots and lots of baked goods, so Jackie and I were running on nothing but coffee as the cheerful driver dragged us off to the symposium. We were just one of a mini-motorcade of cars, taking a slew of panelists to the college's various auditoriums. "How many panels are running this morning?" I asked, mostly trying to make small talk as the car heated up slowly.

"So the theme of the whole weekend is love," he shrugged, "because, you know, Valentines? Your discussion is the big thing this morning, then there's a separate panel on intimacy coordinators this afternoon. But most of the rest of what's going on is workshops."

"I'm teaching a workshop." Jackie had found herself in the backseat with a moldy-looking guy in glasses. Neither of us knew him. "It's about gender imbalances in heroic arcs." We both looked at him, then at each other, and realized there was nothing much we could say to that.

"Yeah," I said, trying to avoid an awkward silence, "I'm doing a workshop tomorrow. It's on how to stop loving your words."

"Really?" The driver seemed interested, or was at least a good enough actor to feign it. "What's that mean?"

"I'm a writer who also produces, and sometimes acts," I explained, "and I've learned I need to split up all those roles. If I'm acting in one of my projects, and the director decides one of my lines doesn't work, I have to suck it up as a writer and support the director as a producer, while trying to follow his guidance as an actor." I shrugged. "It can be hard to give up your words sometimes. You fall in love with them."

"I wish I was staying for that," Jackie sighed. She was looking out the window at the coastal traffic. "I've been thinking about getting into writing." I twisted all the way around in the seat, to find her red-cheeked as she glanced back. "Maybe you could give me some pointers."

"Fuck that. You'll be competing with me for sales." The whole car laughed, even the weirdo with the gender imbalance. "Do you know if Alex Rabados is going to make it for our panel?"

The driver glanced back. "Who?"

So much for that.

Alex was there, though, as we strolled backstage in the big auditorium where they were holding the panel discussions. He looked just like he had ten years ago, only with about ten more pounds shaved off his already impossibly skinny body. He held a bagel he showed no signs of biting into. "Hey, Alex!" I called. I'd done some business with his production company a few years before, though we hadn't talked face to face. "Nice to see you, man."

"Likewise." He had the same vapid, borderline-stoned manner he'd had back then, too. I'd heard he'd been making films in Europe these days, and wondered whether it was Amsterdam. "Congratulations on your nomination, Erik."

"Hey! Thanks! It was a real shock." His handshake was still limp too, and the hug he gave Jackie was a lot less than heartfelt. Alex had always been the kind of person who seemed to have something else on his mind. "The Kimballs are a lot better than I deserve," I laughed.

"Yeah. I optioned two of your scripts yesterday, just FYI," he shrugged, leaving me in gaping disbelief. "Your agent will probably be calling you about it sometime, you know?"

"Um. No shit?" Two scripts! That fucking nomination was the gift that kept on giving, and I wasn't even going to win. My guy had already set up three new production meetings for me, financing attached. He was reasonably confident I'd get buzz from one of the big awards too, probably the Golden Globes, so he was expecting a boost from that too. "That's amazing, Alex! Which ones?"

"I don't know. The best two?" He stared out the window. "I liked the second one better. I think it was about, like, a soldier? With PTSD?"

"Oh! Damn." I'd written that thing almost four years ago. I hadn't even been sure my agent was still holding onto it. "Wow. Thanks, man. I think it'll make a great movie."

"Yeah, I might take that one myself," he nodded, thoughtful, and then he did that typical Alex Rabados thing where he just... left. Not a word, not a nod, not an acknowledgement: he just drifted off to do something else, there among the hubbub of deans, professors, and other assorted film-school hangers on.