“I
had planned to go to your place this evening,” Peter noted.
“Why?”
she asked with alarm.
“I
was going to return that sign you lent to me. The one that says ‘Beechwood.’”
“I
asked you to put it in the mailbox.”
“I
know, but I just wanted to see you one more time.”
“You
might have seen my father,” she cautioned, “or, worse still, he might have seen
you.”
“That
was part of the plan,” he confessed. “I wanted to meet him and show him I am
not the devil.”
Latesha
knitted her brows. “You can give me the sign when you leave.”
“It’s
in the truck. Can I give it to you now?”
“Yes.”
Peter
walked out to his truck and got the sign. When he came back inside, Latesha was
sitting on the stage and reading the script. Peter moved toward her, but
stopped at the jukebox, quickly scanning the titles. He pressed a number and
turned to her. Just as he took his first step,
I Will Always Love You
, sung by Whitney Houston, began playing. He
walked up to the stage and stood beside Latesha, but they did not look at each
other.
Latesha
got off the stage and faced him as the song reached its finale. Peter showed
her the sign. He laid it on the stage, then turned and walked out of the center
without saying goodbye.
*
* * *
Latesha
was glad he was gone. What a relief! She sat on the stage and starting reading
again, but the silence tortured her soul. She felt incredibly alone and cold,
as if winter had suddenly descended. He was gone. Gone forever. This strange,
beautiful creature, like some kind of majestic animal she had marveled at, had
just disappeared. She would never see him again.
Never.
Suddenly
Latesha dropped the book on the floor and ran to the door as fast as she could,
pushing it open and hurrying out to the steps. Peter was just getting into his
truck.
“Wait!”
Latesha called breathlessly.
He
got out of the truck, stood beside it holding the door, and looked at her.
“There’s
a pretty little spot out back,” she said, her nerves on edge. “Would you like
to see it?”
Peter
made a strange face.
“Well,
would you?” she asked again.
“I
don’t think so,” he said flatly.
“Why?”
she asked almost in a peep.
“I
don’t want to be a yo-yo, Latesha. You push me away and then pull me back.” He
looked hard at her. “Either I’m good enough for you, or I’m not.”
“I
never said I was better than you.”
He
gazed at her in the dim light cast from a streetlamp. “We have a lot in
common,” Peter said in a monotone voice. “When you picked your song, I realized
it was about us.”
“What
do you mean?”
“U2
is a group of Irish men and together with a black woman they made magic. It was
as if the five of them had been touched by the hand of God. It didn’t matter if
they were Catholic or Protestant, man or woman, black or white. Magic goes
beyond religion, gender, color. It goes beyond understanding.” He paused for
several seconds. “In that song, they made magic. But life is not a song and
sometimes magic is not enough.”
She
listened to him in silence, her heart pounding, and she stared at him as he
stared at her.
“I’m
tired,” he said.
Latesha
smirked at him. “Fine,” she snapped. “Leave if you want to.”
“I
don’t want to leave,” he said, their eyes still locked. “But I don’t like
roller coasters, either.”
Latesha
sighed with irritation, turned away for a moment, and then looked back at him
with a pained look. “I can’t promise you anything,” she said, almost in a
whisper.
“I
never asked you for anything.”
“I
can’t give you anything, Peter. That’s the reality.” She grimaced. “I like you!
All right? I’m trying! Give me a break.”
“All
right,” he said softly, closing the truck door. He seemed tentative, but
willing. “Can you show me that pretty little spot out back?”
Latesha
nodded slightly, showed a hint of a smile, and glanced at him as she walked
toward the back of the community center. Peter followed for a few steps and
then walked the rest of the way at her side. She could feel his presence more
powerfully than she had ever felt the presence of any other man, but she did
not speak to him or express this feeling in any way. Yet she could not deny
that merely walking with him filled her with a strange and exotic joy. It just
felt right, as if this man who had appeared from nowhere completed her and made
her whole.
And
that scared the hell out of her.
“I
was wondering,” she said tentatively, her nerves on edge, “if you could do me a
favor?”
“Oh,
I see,” Peter said in a humorous voice, “you’re being nice to me because you
want me to play Romeo in the play?”
“Hardly,”
she said with a laugh. “No, I was wondering if you could operate the lights for
us?”
“What
exactly would that entail, Ms. Thomas?”
“Well,
since we only have ten days left until the play, we’re going to have to
practice every evening. I was wondering if you could come a few of those
evenings and work the lights. Then, of course, we would need you for the play
itself.” She looked at him hopefully. “It’s not a huge commitment.”
“No,
it’s not,” he said, though he did not commit one way or the other.
Latesha
led him to the back of the building where a small park was visible in the soft
glow of window light. They sat across from each other at a picnic table and
could hear the river flowing just beyond the bank, the moonlight glinting off
it in the black forest. It was cool and Latesha, wearing a dress with her arms
exposed, looked chilled. Peter stood up, took off his jacket, and wrapped it
around her. Latesha was startled and twitched slightly, but she accepted his
jacket and enjoyed the feeling of his body warmth in it. A slight wind rustled
the leaves and they glanced at each other like awkward teenagers.
“Is
that the river you swim in?” Peter asked.
“That’s
it,” Latesha replied. “That’s Ol’ Man River.”
Peter
pointed at a beech tree barely visible through the foliage. “That must be your
back yard?”
“Yes.”
“The
beech tree is huge.”
“I
used to climb it when I was a little girl,” Latesha said with childlike
innocence, “but now I just sit under it to read and write. Sometimes I draw.”
“I
draw, too.”
“Do
you have any aspirations to become famous?”
“None,”
he said with a laugh. “I just find it relaxing.”
“Could
I see one of your drawings sometime?”
“I’m
working on one now,” he said, “and when I get it right, I’ll show it to you.”
“Deal.”
“Can
I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Do
you ever get lonely?”
Latesha
seemed taken aback. “That’s a very personal question.”
“Maybe
you could give me a very personal answer.”
“I
get lonely,” Latesha admitted, startled by their level of intimacy. “Sometimes
I’d like to have a man in my life.”
“Why?”
She
shrugged. “The same reason you wanted someone in your life. Do you remember
saying that on the phone? You want a woman in your life, someone special.”
“But
the question is,” he said, “what if I never encountered a woman in my entire life
who felt right, then, unexpectedly, I meet her. Unfortunately, she doesn’t like
me the way I like her. What would you suggest in those circumstances,
matchmaker?”
“Maybe
she does like you,” Latesha offered. “Maybe she likes you a whole lot more than
you realize.” She paused. “Fact is, Mr. Elsworth, you don’t know exactly how
she feels.”
“True.
I can only judge by her actions.”
“Take
Romeo and Juliet,” Latesha said. “They loved each other, but there were other
factors beyond their control. Sometimes outside pressures are bigger than the
wishes of two people. That’s just how it is and there’s no changing it.” They
heard voices. “Time to head back. Could you stay until the end of rehearsal?”
“I’ll
show someone how to operate the lights,” he said.
Latesha
nodded knowingly with a glum look and stood up from the bench. Peter followed
her back and she stopped just before they rounded the corner and gave him back
his jacket. The actors resumed their practice and Peter showed Mary how to
operate the lights. The whole time he explained things to her, Latesha felt
extremely agitated. A couple of times she wanted to call out and tell Mary she
could not handle the lights because she was needed elsewhere, but Latesha could
not think of what important job Mary had to do. Still, it irked her no end that
Mary was quickly learning what to do and becoming very proficient. The anxiety
rose to such a level in Latesha that she almost called out to tell Peter and
Mary to be quiet because they were disturbing her.
“I
can’t do it!” the sniffling Juliet suddenly bellowed, as if on the verge of a
nervous breakdown.
“Can’t
do what, Beatrice?” Latesha asked with exasperation.
“I
can’t do it!” the woman said with a shriek. “Do you hear me? I cannot do it!
When it was dark up here, that was bad enough, but now all the people will be
looking right at me. I’m not doing it, Latesha. I’m not!”
Latesha
rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment. Tyrone was right. The
play was a disaster. It was a horror movie.
“This
would almost be funny if it wasn’t so sad,” Tyrone said.
One
of the actors stepped to the front of the stage. “You come up, Latesha, and
read a few lines so that Beatrice can see how easy it is.”
Mary
nodded in approval. “Try it,” she encouraged. “Give her some direction.”
Latesha
sighed and walked up to the stage. She took a script and flipped through it,
stopping on a page where she saw several lines of Juliet’s dialogue. Latesha
read articulately and with emphasis, glancing nervously at Peter as he watched
from the wings
The
moment she finished, all the other actors started clapping. Beatrice, who
watched with awe, threw up her hands and declared on the spot that she was
finished with the play, arguing that it was Latesha and not her who was meant
for the role. Latesha tried to dissuade her, but Beatrice had her mind set and
could not be swayed. The others, though trying to appease Beatrice, were all
secretly pleased she was ending her career, determining it was better not to
put on the play at all than to have her in the lead role.
“Latesha,
you have to be Juliet!” Mary insisted, walking up on the stage. “You’re
perfect.”
“Good
idea!” the other actors chimed in unison. “You do it, Latesha.”
Latesha
smirked. “I can’t be the director and the lead actor at the same time. That’s
impossible.”
“I’ll
direct,” Mary offered. “At least I’ll sit in the chair and if you want me to do
anything, just ask. But Latesha, you have to be Juliet.”
The
other actors crowded around and in a single voice tried to persuade her.
“I’m
sorry, but I just can’t do it. I need to get a job. I simply don’t have the
time.”
“You
had the time to be director,” Mary said.
“That’s
different. This is much more of a commitment.”
“It’s
less of a commitment,” Mary argued. “If you’re director, you’re responsible for
everything. But as an actor, you only have to concentrate on your one little
part. Listen, Latesha, even if you only give half an effort it will be twice as
good as what we have now, and I’m sure you could do this in your sleep. It’ll
be great. Come on, we need you. Besides, it’ll all be over and done with in
less than two weeks.”
“What
am I getting myself into?” Latesha asked, laughing nervously.
“You’ll
do it?” several people said at once.
“I
don’t know,” she said, obviously confused.
“You
sounded fantastic,” Mary insisted. “It was as if Juliet herself was speaking.”
She turned the pages of Latesha’s script and found a section where she was
speaking. “Here, recite some more lines. If it doesn’t sound just as good,
we’ll forget the whole thing and you’re off the hook. But you have to try, all
right?”
Latesha
looked at all the hopeful faces. “All right,” she reluctantly agreed, glancing
at the script. She began to read, becoming more animated and involved with each
word. She read articulately and with a dramatic flair.
“Bravo!”
Tyrone exclaimed, leading the others in applause. “You’re it, Latesha.”
It
suddenly occurred to Latesha that if she played the part, then Mary would have
to direct the play. If Mary directed, she could not operate the lights. That
job would then fall back to Peter. It was a matter of extreme importance for
her to be sure she would see him again.
“All
right, I’ll do it,” she said with exasperation, “but only if Mary becomes the
director.”
“Done!”
Mary answered instantly, accepting the terms with a huge smile.
“Now
we’re talking,” Tyrone said, visibly excited at the prospect of Latesha
replacing Beatrice. “This might work after all.”
“Can
you memorize the lines that quickly?” Mary asked.
“I’ve
been reading and memorizing a lot of them anyway,” Latesha said, “because I
wanted to be able to follow along.” She nodded. “I can do it.”
“I’ll
operate the lights,” Beatrice offered, moving toward Peter. “Can you show me
what to do?”
“Sure,”
he said.
Latesha
suddenly looked tremendously deflated, but she did not say anything. Mary, now
full of energy and enthusiasm, called a halt to the rehearsal and asked
everyone to be there again the next evening at six. Everyone agreed.
“Could
you show Beatrice how to work the lights?” Peter asked Mary. “That way I’ll be
out of your hair.”
“You’re
more than welcome here, Peter,” Mary told him.