96.
The following morning, I placed a call to a woman I hadn't seen or spoken to in more than twenty years.
"Hello, Mrs. Etcitty? My name is Dai Brenner. I wonder if you remember..."
97.
Soon we were in tech. Technical rehearsals: a week before you open-sometimes more, if you're lucky-you're out of the rehearsal room and into the theater, incorporating the set, the lights, the costumes, the sound, working transitions, firming up business. As a rule, not much acting goes on. Designers help actors find light, make quick-changes; actors position props for easy access, request glo-tape on stair units and door frames. And on this particular Friday, the fight director reminds Macduff not to overextend on his initial cut five, because we really can't afford to lose the entire first electrical to a single swipe of a blunted aluminum broadsword.
"So hang it higher!" snarled Kal.
Magnus (Lighting Designer), with the kind of polite contempt seasoned tech people reserve for your more demanding breed of actor: "We will, Sweetie, but for today, I'm just trying to see how to light your final entrance, so if you could be a little patient..."
Mac (Fight Director), muttered under her breath: "God, could that poor man's dick be any smaller...?"
98.
Cherri and I did our courteous professionalism routine into the wee hours. The contract allowed Oak Ridge Shakespeare two ten-out-of-twelves, and three eight-out-of-tens, so two days on which rehearsal began at noon and lasted until midnight, and three more on which the festivities began at 1:00 pm, and lasted until 11:00. But after rehearsals, back at her apartment, we were suddenly a little shy of each other. We still spent nearly every night in bed together, and Cherri never failed to claim her goodnight kiss. We still had sex pretty regularly, although given how long some of the days were, there were some nights when we were asleep before our heads hit those rose red bamboo pillowcases.
But I had told Cherri that I loved her. And she had said the same thing to me. And that changed things a little.
99.
So we were more than halfway through tech: 12:45 am on a cold February morning, and Cherri and I stood in the hallway outside her door. Before we went in, I put a hand on her shoulder.
"Do you maybe want to sleep alone tonight?"
"Do you?" My Lady was beat. She hadn't been saying much for the last few nights. Now her voice was brittle, and there was an edge to it.
I was wary, but I wasn't exactly surprised. Actors are amateur psychologists, or at least the good ones are. Getting inside of peoples' heads is part of the job description. I didn't think I'd exactly meant to start the inevitable discussion after midnight towards the end of a punishing week, but I was whacked too, so really, who knows what I meant? What I said was:
"No, Cher. I really don't. I love sleeping next to you, and waking up to the sight of your hair on the pillow, and the sound of your breathing, and the smell of your..."
"Of my what?"
She was glaring at me now, but I thought I caught her trying to bury a smile.
"You want the diplomatic answer, or the honest one?"
She huffed. "How do you even have the energy to play these games at one-o-clock in the fucking morning after two straight ten-out-of-twelves?"
"A healthy diet, plenty of exercise, and church every Sunday."
"Okay, first of all, fuck you just in general, and second of all, you're Jewish."
"Half."
"Whatever."
She had the door open. "Get inside. I'm seriously considering murdering you, and I don't want witnesses."
100.
Inside the apartment, she dropped her bag on the kitchen table and collapsed on the sofa. I sprawled next to her, not quite touching. Eventually, she curled into me, resting her head on my chest, and letting me wrap an arm around her shoulder. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
"Now, you pervert," she still sounded exhausted, but the smile was back in her voice, "the smell of my what, exactly?"
"Well, out in the hallway, with half the company wandering around, I'd have said the smell of your perfume. But now that we're behind clothes doors...I just love waking up to the smell of your body: a little sweat," I leaned close and murmured into her hair, "a little whiff of your pussy, if we happen to have had sex the previous evening..."
"Which we haven't for the past couple of days. I'm sorry..."
"Wait a minute, why are you sorry? There's no rule say that we have to have sex if we don't feel like it. And this has been a pretty intense couple of weeks."
"I know, but..." She paused, and then in a different tone of voice. "Dai, can I ask you something?"
Uh oh. "Sure, Cher."
"It's just that everything's so...between us. It's wonderful, but...okay, I'm obsessed with you. I love being around you, talking to you, teasing you, sitting quietly with you. When I'm not with you, part of me feels kind of giddy, because I know you're out in the world somewhere, maybe thinking of me, or...and then part of me feels a little needy, like I'm an addict with a supply at home, but I have to get back for my fix...which sounds dark and horrible, but I kind of mean it in a good way...is this making any sense to you at all?"
I wasn't sure where she was going, but so far it all sounded positive, and it wasn't like she was speaking a foreign language...
