22.
The following day, I didn't see much of Cherri. She had an early costume fitting, and then she and Gil rehearsed 5.1, the sleepwalking scene, and the only scene in which she appears without Macbeth.
I spent most of the morning learning fights. Our fight master, Alison MacDowell--she preferred being called Mac--was a tiny woman with the lean, ropy body of a marathoner, the physical speed and agility of a mongoose fucking with a cobra, and the patience of a saint. This became apparent as she built the fight between Macbeth and young Siward, played for us by Andi Tan, pronouns: they, them. Andi was also to be our fight captain, which meant that they had to learn all the fights so that they could run a fight call before each performance, and make sure that all the fights stayed safe. Mac worked quickly. Andi did not. They took copious notes, and asked lots of questions, and the upshot was that a ninety second fight took almost two hours to build. Didn't bother Mac, but it did mean we'd be lucky to get a quarter of the way through the much longer Macduff fight. Kal, an experienced fighter, was annoyed at being kept waiting, and lost patience with Andi. The result was an hour of heavy handed cuts and spotty targeting, during which I almost lost an eye, a kidney, and my temper, in that order, and after which Mac finally lost patience with Kal. They spent the last half-hour before lunch screaming at each other in the hallway outside the rehearsal room, while Andi hurriedly organized their notes. I snuck off to the green room to drill lines.
After lunch I had a long fitting with Simone, designing our costumes. The same woman who had--if my Lady was to be believed--taken such pleasure in displaying Cherri's boobs in the previous Oak Ridge
As You Like It
. Made me wonder about the Lady Macbeth costumes. Alright, come the fuck on, Brenner! I mentally smacked myself around a little. This was the downside of "the idea." Channeling my infatuation with Cherri into character development didn't diminish it. In fact, the way she'd responded had, if anything, deepened it. And since it was deeper, I had to be that much more careful to avoid drowning in it. I pushed all thoughts of Cherri from my mind--took some doing, but I managed it--and let Simone's crew measure, drape, and wrap.
23.
Cherri had made a goodnight kiss a condition of our arrangement, but since we hadn't spent the evening together, I thought a text might be the polite way to go. Accordingly, at about 10:30, I sent: "My Lady, may I stop by to say goodnight?"
Fifteen minutes later, I got a return. Just her apartment number.
Huh.
24.
I knocked, heard movement, and then the door opened. Cherri stood there in a long cream colored terry cloth bathrobe over what looked like red plaid pajamas. No makeup.
I'd never seen Cherri without makeup. Not a surprise. Like many actors and actresses I knew, Cherri's public persona was...well, maybe the word I want is curated. As a profession, we like to control how we're perceived. I keep my head shaved. I'd rather look like a tough guy than like...a public defender, a CPA, a grocer, or whoever comes to mind when you think of a guy with a fringe of graying hair around a bald scalp. Cherri liked to look glamorous. She emphasized her large, lustrous eyes with artfully applied liner, shadow and mascara. She liked to draw attention to her full, pouted lips with deep red glossy lipsticks. And her hair was...well, never having had much hair to work with myself, I didn't know exactly what it was, but it was always striking, stylish, always...a part of her look.
Now, her hair was brushed long and straight down her back. It looked a little wet; maybe she'd just come out of the shower. I think she saw me notice, because she turned away. In a small voice, she said: "Oh God, I look hideous, don't I?"
For all of the time I spent thinking about her, I didn't know Cherri very well. I'd certainly never seen her like this: subdued, sad?
"You really don't, Cher. You're a beautiful woman. Tonight's just a different kind of beautiful."
That got me a wan smile: "You're full of shit, you know that? But you're sweet. I don't suppose you brought that bottle of Makers?"
"No, but I can run down and get it, if you want a little."
"Would you mind?"
"I'll be right back."
25.
Drinks poured, sitting at her kitchen table, I asked: "Hey, wifey-poo, is everything alright?"
She gave a little snort: "You know all those crap books men write called stupid shit like: 'What Do Women Want?'"
"Sure, I've got three on the nightstand."
"You probably do. Well, not to reveal the secrets of the sisterhood, but if you cherish any hope of getting laid even once before you die, you will never again employ the phrase 'wifey-poo.'"
"I'll rephrase the question. Seriously, Cherri, are you okay?"
She sighed. "I've had better days. The whiskey helps. Thanks."
"Want to talk about it?"
She took a few seconds to look at me. "Not really. Or...maybe not tonight. We're still doing dinner on Saturday, right?"
"I'm looking forward to it."
"Maybe then, if you don't mind letting me vent a little."
"Sure. Whatever you need."
"Whatever I...? She got up and moved around the table to me. I stood up just in time to catch her. She walked straight into my arms, leaned her head on my shoulder, and began to cry. There was no real sound, other than a slight catch in her breath. She wasn't sobbing. There were just tears running down her face. I could feel them, warm and wet on the skin of my neck.
I said: "Hey, Hon, whatever it is I'm..."
She said: "Shhh! Just hold onto me, okay?"
Easy enough.
26.
When she'd gotten whatever it was out of her system, she walked me to the door. Standing facing me, she held both of my hands and smiled up at me, a little sadly. "Don't ask me anything tonight. Probably I'll tell you all about it on Saturday, but you know what? I really should have just seduced you over the summer. Then we could go to bed, and you could just...fuck all my troubles away."
I opened my mouth, not sure what I was about to say, but she stopped me. And when she spoke again, some of last night's playfulness was back in her voice
"But no! You had to get all method and stuff. So for now, you've made your bed, and I'm not allowed to lie in it." She stuck out her lower lip in a sexy pout. "Too bad. Now, my Thane, where's my goodnight kiss?"
I spun her around and smacked her hard across the rump. The sound, and probably some of the shock value, was absorbed by the bathrobe, but she still gave a surprised, and very sexy, little squeak.
"Minx!" I could already feel my breath coming short, and my cock hardening. "I ought to put you over my knee and smack that pretty round ass of yours until you beg for mercy!"
"Ooh, promises, promises! But if you're really going to spank me..." she turned back to me, wound her arms around my neck, and whispered into my ear, "don't you think I ought to be naked, so you can see my little bottom getting all warm and pink?"
I groaned, and she giggled. "Hmm, so we're agreed. Now kiss me!"
