Waiting for a Cue
Author’s Note: While not the worst-written story on this site, this is my least favorite. When I started writing it, I didn’t know what conflict I wanted to write about, only that the outcome would be one character decided to leave another for dead. As the story developed in the direction of sexual assault, I believe my goals from a plotting perspective failed to adapt in turn with the nuances of such a serious subject matter. One of the territorial hazards of posting rough drafts to the internet is regretting something that’s already live for the world to see. Someday I may return to this story and attempt to reform it, but that seems unlikely to be soon. For now, I’m leaving it up, but attaching this warning. Read on if you like.
Starry-eyed Rose Tannenbaum paced beside a tangled nest of wires. Large speakers, battery packs, and heavy microphone stands lined the closet shelves. Lucas leaned against the far wall, looking from his phone to Rose.
“It’s done,” said Rose. Her lips quivered.
Lucas looked down again, and said flatly, “What do you mean?”
“You, me... us. It’s all done for.” Rose sniffled, and wiped at her eyes, though they were dry.
“Hey, stop. Don’t do that,” Lucas pointed at her face. Rose looked at her fingers, and saw black stains where she had smeared the makeup.
“Oh, sorry!” She grimaced. Lucas shook his head. He jutted his head out, and swiveled his face in a circular motion, eyes wide. Rose stopped, and did the same.
“It looks fine,” Lucas sighed. He leaned back against the wall. “A couple smears won’t hurt if you’re supposed to be covered in ash. Let’s just get back to it.”
Lucas scrolled, found his spot, and continued. Rose resumed pacing.
“Sarah, I still don’t understand—“
“The ranch!” Rose cut off Lucas, but not early enough. She winced. “I set a match to your precious ranch. Do you see it? There!” Rose motioned towards the wall two feet away. A dazzling ballerina stared back at her, mid-arabesque, from 1995’s performance of Swan Lake. “That red glow beyond the forest? See how it makes the trees shiver. Those trees that made our home — don’t they look so small against the blaze? They stood for generations before you or I set our foul eyes upon this land. Now they are burning, too.”
Lucas’s eyes flicked down a line, and he read, “William falls to his knees over the body of Abigail. He appears wretched, small. Sarah stands over him.” Lucas looked back at Rose.
“Do you smell it?” Rose looked down, as if a man crouched before her. “Breathe, William. Have you ever smelled something so sweet? That breath, was it a little bit of the library? No, the library never smelled that rotten. The cowshed, maybe? Ha! No... I think not. Our bedroom, perhaps? Perhaps...” Rose bit her bottom lip. “Perhaps... They might hang me—”
“No, that’s not it?” Lucas interjected.
“Shit!” Rose snapped her fingers, and paced faster. “Perhaps... Perhaps... Alright, fine! Give me a hint. Just the start.”
“Cowards like you—”
“Cowards like you take,” Rose said. She pointed her finger where William’s head might be. “And take. And take what isn’t yours. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. No matter what you already have, it will never be enough. And I was a coward not to stop you. But no longer.”
Rose bent down on her knees, but kept her head tall, and her eyes forward.
“They might hang me for this. They might call me an evil woman, a witch, a temptress. Let them. I have earned judgement, but not for this fire. For all the bodies I buried, I earned it, for each meal that I fed you, and did nothing to stop you, I earned it. And… Line?”
“When I die—”
“Right! Almost had it! Almost. And when I die, I will imagine your face as it looks to me now. I will smile, and know that this is justice.”
Lucas gave a half-hearted smile, and handed the phone back to Rose. “Cutting it awfully close,” he said.
“I know, I know.” From beyond the walls, Rose heard a swell of music. Another scene was ending, and the play crept closer to her moment to shine. “I’m just nervous, okay? When I get nervous, I have a hard time remembering.”
“Well, you picked the right career,” Lucas said, rolling his eyes. Rose flipped him her middle finger. “That’s more like it,” he said, stepping towards the door. “If you’re pissed at me, you can’t be nervous right?”
“Ha ha.” Rose scrolled back through the script on her phone.
“I gotta dash,” Lucas said. “Justine usually gets offstage about now, and you’re not the only one who needs to be covered in ash.”
Rose brushed him away with a motion of her hand. He opened the door and left.
Just as the door was about to swing shut, a hand caught it, and a handsome man dressed in 19th-century pioneer garb looked inside. Rose looked up, and waved.
“Hi Michael,” she said.
“There you are,” he said, stepping inside. “Val has been looking everywhere for you; you’re almost up.”
Rose nodded, and said, “I know, I know, I just—gah! I can’t get these lines down. I just need to remember.”
Michael cocked his head, and raised an eyebrow. “Trouble with lines? You?” he said. “I had no idea. You looked amazing out there.”
Rose exhaled in what was almost a laugh. She shook her head.
“No, no, no, but this is it, you know?” Rose said. She looked up at Michael, setting her phone down on a shelf. She could look at the screen again and again, but the words didn’t seem to register anymore. They were just shapes. “This is the big one — my moment in the spotlight. My career will live or die based on this.”
Michael smiled, and shook his head.
“Well, do you want some help? Here,” he said. Michael closed the door behind him, and centered himself in the cramped sound closet. He was taller than her, and he made the room look even smaller by comparison. “I’ll be William. Where do you want me to start?”
Rose sighed, and shook her head. She picked up her phone, and handed it to him, pointing to a line on the screen.
“Here,” she said. “I start to have trouble right when I get to the part about the smell of the smoke.”
“Here?” Michael asked, pointing. Rose nodded. Michael placed the phone on a shelf behind him, next to a row of microphone stands. “Okay, so that means I’m down here.” He sat down on the floor, and rested his face in one hand, his other arm draped over a knee. He looked up at Rose, and said, “Whenever you’re ready.”
Rose took a deep breath. She began.
“No, the library never smelled that rotten. The cowshed, maybe? Ha! No... I think not. Our bedroom, perhaps? Perhaps…” Rose leaned down, closer to Michael. He looked up, and his eyes looked gentle and broken. Rose kept going, without looking away.
“Cowards like you take.” Rose pointed his finger between Michael’s eyes. “You take and take what isn’t yours. But it’s not enough. It will—a”
“Hold on,” Michael said, holding his hand up, like a timid student answering a question. “Don’t you think the finger is a bit… weak?”
“You think?” Rose asked. Michael shrugged.
“Yeah, I mean… You want this to be your scene. This should steal the show, right?” Rose nodded. “So, I was thinking,” Michael said, “you’re this guy’s wife. You just burned this scumbags house and everything he owns to the ground, and you’re just wagging a finger at him?”
He shook his head. Rose sucked on her teeth, and tried to picture the scene from the audience’s perspective.
“So, can we try it again?” asked Michael, “And this time, really get up in my business. Grab me, if you want, y’know? You don’t respect me, you don’t respect my personal space. Just… whatever feels natural. Ready?”
“Okay, sure,” Rose nodded. Michael re-assumed his pose. Rose leaned next to him, then got closer. “Cowards like you take.” She grabbed Michael by the shirt, shoving him back hard. He almost toppled over, but he grabbed onto her arm to hold his balance. There was venom in her glare, and she didn’t let the momentum stop. “And take. And take what isn’t yours. But it’s not enough.”
Rose felt genuine disgust rising in her. She pursed her lips together, exhaled with a phht sound, like she was spitting in Michael’s face. He blinked rapidly, and wiped his face.
“It’s never enough. No matter what you already have, it will never be enough. And I was a coward not to stop you. But no longer.”
Michael smiled up at Rose, and said, “That was amazing!”
“Really?!” Rose beamed. They were still clutching one another. “You don’t think it was too much?”
“Honestly, it was perfect. I was terrified,” Michael laughed. “But you know, you could go harder if you want. You could go with both arms, honestly.”
Still holding onto her left arm, he reached up and placed Rose’s right hand on his left shoulder. Rose smiled, then looked to where the imaginary audience sat. She frowned.
“But, that will block the view,” Rose said. She looked back at Michael, and his eyes seemed to be searching hers. He was close enough that Rose could smell his breath.
“So?” He asked. There was a moment of silence, and Rose felt her heart sink. It wasn’t from nervousness, and it wasn’t about the show.
Michael leaned closer, but Rose drew away. She tried to pass it off with a laugh. Michael looked surprised.
“What’s wrong?” he said. He was still holding onto both of Rose’s arms. Rose sat upright, and so did Michael. He caught Rose’s hand as it pulled away from his shoulder, and Michael began to play with it, like a leaf caught in a breeze.
The orchestra began to play.
“I’d prefer if you didn’t do that,” said Rose.
“Do what?”
“You tried to kiss me. Just now. And—”
“No, I didn’t—“
“—you’re holding my hands—”
“—Rose, you’re over-re—”
“—and I want you to stop—”
“—acting, it was just—”
“Michael, stop.”
Michael blinked. He let go of her, and raised his eyebrows like an innocent child. There was a long pause, and Michael kept opening his mouth to say something, but each time, it seemed to slip away.
Finally, he said, “Rose, I think you’re an incredibly talented actress. You deserve so much more than this tiny stage, and old folks at matinees, and guys like me—”
At that, he let his right hand fall back onto Rose’s forearm, and she leapt up. Michael jumped up as well, and positioned himself between Rose and the door.
“Michael, you’re hurting me,” Rose said, wincing. She tried to pull away, but Michael’s grip was tight.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Michael said. He had his nice guy face on, and he pulled Rose’s arm.
Rose screamed, and tried to shoot past him, towards the door. He yanked her back, though, and Rose felt his other hand at her waist.
“No! Stop!” Rose cried. She saw her phone on the shelf, and flailed an arm towards it. Michael pushed her against the wall, pinning one arm to the side with his own.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he kept saying. Rose wouldn’t look into his eyes. Her fingers grasped for the phone, but it was half a foot out of reach. Rose’s hand found one of the microphone stands instead: about a foot tall, fit for a seated announcer, with a metal disk at the base.
Rose grabbed the microphone stand, and swung.
There was a dull thud, and then a crack as Michael’s face bounced into the brick wall just above she right shoulder. Michael fell away from her, collapsing to the floor. Rose saw blood filling his mouth and nose, and a steady puddle began to form from the back of his head.
Rose gasped again and again. The microphone stand clattered to the floor, leaving an uneven red semicircle as it rolled. She pressed herself against the wall, and inched towards the door.
Then she noticed the music. It was getting louder, more bombastic. She recognized it as the closing notes before her scene.
Michael moaned, and he rolled to his side, moaning. His eyes rolled back, and his body went limp. Rose could see that he was still breathing, though, and she took several deep breaths. Her hands shook.
“Michael…?” Rose asked. There was no response. A trail of blood and snot moved back and forth as Michael struggled to breath. Rose bent down to look at him, then froze, and looked toward the door.
The music crescendoed, then fell away. The muffled voice of William came from the stage.
Slowly, Rose stood up. Her hands were shaking as she pocketed her phone. She closed her eyes for a moment, and swallowed. Rose let out a slow, trembling breath. She opened her eyes, and saw the bleeding man.
Rose raised her head, walked out the door, and closed it behind her. She moved towards the stage without seeing the actors waiting in the wings. Someone ran up to her, and dusted an extra layer of sooty makeup onto her face and arms.
“What? Who is that? Who goes there?” came William’s voice from onstage.
Rose stepped out onto the stage, like a specter. She looked toward the audience, the darkness beneath the beaming lights. Her eyes glittered, and she smiled.
“It’s done.”