Free Stage Fright (Bit Parts) by Michelle Scott Page A

groaned, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.
    Amusement kindled in his eyes.  “Don’t be embarrassed.  Your singing was better than the play.”
    I gave a startled laugh.  “You actually saw County Dracula ?”
    “I have season tickets to the Bleak Street.  No offense, but the play…”
    “…was awful.”  I finished the sentence, so he didn’t have to.
    He shook his head.  “I was going to say weird.  Could you explain why Lucy Seward and a scarecrow performed a square dance in slow motion while a sad clown played the harmonica?”
    I rolled my eyes.  “I’d love to, but I have no idea.”  The depressing part was that the square dance sequence hadn’t been the strangest part of the play.  Not by a long shot.
    The corners of his lips twitched up.  “The Bleak Street does show some unusual things.  Did you see The Penguin, the Lemur, and the Cheerleader: an Apocalyptic Tale last year?”
    I snorted, almost spraying coffee through my nose.  “I’m sad to say I missed that one.”
    “Count yourself lucky.”   He sipped his chai.  “What other plays have you worked on?”
    “Last year, I played Cordelia in King Lear at the Pinnacle.”
    He nodded.  “Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides…”
    “…Who cover faults, at last shame them derides,” I finished, thrilled that he knew the play.  “Did you see it?”
    “No.”  He shrugged, embarrassed.  “I did read the graphic novel, though.”
    I laughed.  “Me, too.”  It was one of the few comics in Andrew’s collection that I’d bothered with.  “You should see the movie.  It’s very good.”
    “Movies are for car chases and explosions.  Theater is better for drama.  Seeing it acted live makes it more intense.”
    “I agree!”  I grinned like a fool but couldn’t help myself.  Outside of Andrew, I had no one who shared my passion for theater.  Although I wanted to debate themes and imagery in drama, most of my friends chatted about dating, celebrity gossip, and fashion trends.  Isaiah’s interest in theater was as attractive as his broad shoulders and beautiful eyes.  I wondered how I could ask for his phone number without looking too obvious.
    “Are you appearing in Julius Caesar ?” he asked.
    I shook my head.  “That show was cancelled.  Next up is 16 Voices Talking at the Same Time. ”
    “Victor Stuyvesant’s play,” Isaiah said grimly.
    “You know him?”
    “We’ve never been properly introduced.  Which, from what I understand, is not a bad thing.”
    “It isn’t.  Now that I’ve met him, I’m glad that I wasn’t asked to audition for his play.”   I stared at my coffee cup.  “Well, almost glad.  I haven’t been onstage since, well, since… ” I took a deep breath.  It was now or never.  “… my audition at the Cipher.”
    Isaiah said nothing, but his hand tightened on his cup.
    I pushed my coffee aside.  “I overheard you talking to Hedda in the lobby.  You said that something happened at the Cipher last spring, and I need to know what it was.”  When he still didn’t respond, I swallowed.  “See, I kind of fainted during my audition.  One minute, I was reading for Blanche Du Bois, and the next, I was waking up backstage.”  Unexpectedly, the muscles in my neck tightened.  I winced and rubbed them.  “Everyone says it was low blood sugar, but I think – no, I know – that it was something else.  Something very bad.”
    He swirled the tea in his cup and stared into it as if looking to read the leaves.  “Did you audition with anyone else?”
    “No, it was just me.”
    “And when you woke up, were you alone, or was there someone with you?”
    “The stage manager was there.”
    “Anyone else?  Any other actors?”
    “No.”
    “And afterwards, how did you feel?”
    “Maybe you should read me my Miranda rights before we continue this interrogation,” I said, annoyed.
    He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “You’re the one who