Heartache and Other Natural Shocks (26 page)

“War”

When Julia steps out of the stall, I’m leaning on the sink, and Marlene and Debbie are standing guard at the door. No one else is in the washroom. It takes Julia about two seconds for that to register before the shock hits her face like ice water. She makes a jerky move toward the door, like her body wants to run but her mind knows there’s no point even trying. I smile,
not
a friendly smile. I say, “Julia, I think we should talk.”

Julia stands like a deer in the headlights, but she knows what’s coming. For weeks she’s been hiding from me, sticking to Geoff like a Siamese twin, but there are always times when a person is alone. Debbie’s the one who saw her go into the washroom. Really, the timing couldn’t be better.
Karma
, I think. I’ve had to wait a long time for this chat, but as they say, revenge is a dish best served cold.

I saunter over to Julia, staring her down, making her sweat it out. Then I stand just a little too close, so her eyes have to flit back and forth across my face—very stagy, déjà vu, like a scene I’ve played out in my head a million times. I say, “You know, Julia, I never liked you, but I tried to be nice to
you. I invited you to my house. I introduced you to my friends. I welcomed you at my New Year’s party. But what did you do? You tried to steal my boyfriend. And that breaks all the rules.”

“I didn’t—” Julia sputters.

“What?” Is she trying to deny it? I jab my finger into her chest. “I saw you at that party. Do you think I’m blind? Did you think I wouldn’t find out about you? You
knew
Ian was dating me. So what the hell were you doing with him?”

“Nothing,” she whimpers.

“Liar,” I yell. My voice bounces off the washroom tiles. Julia gulps, trying not to cry, but I don’t feel one bit sorry for that bitch. I saw the way she was pushing up against Ian, holding his hand in that dark corner. And she calls that nothing? Is she fucking joking?

Julia starts to back away, but in two seconds, I’m on to her. I step on her toes and lean in hard. I pin her down with both my feet. She flails backward, like she’s going to fall, but I grab her by the hair and pull her up sharply. I hold her there, so we’re eye to eye. I give her hair a hard yank. “You’re such a fucking phony,” I say. “You always act like you’re better than everyone, but I’d never do what you did to me, ’cause I don’t hit on other people’s boyfriends. I don’t take what isn’t mine. But I guess you’re not such a good girl,
Rapunzel
. I guess you’re just a cheap piece of trash, sneaking around town, like your mom.”

Julia’s eyes pop open. So she knows. Well, how’s that for
touché
? And now she’s crying, stupid girl. Serves her right. There’s always a price to be paid.

“Let’s go,” Marlene says. She’s taking my arm. Marlene and Debbie lead me out the door. Julia’s sobbing and holding her face in her hands. I’m shaking all over, but I’m not sure why.

“You okay?” Deb asks when we’re in the hall.

“Yeah,” I say.

They stare at me. “You told her,” Mar says.

“She deserved it,” Deb says.

“I know,” I say. “She had it coming.” But this isn’t how it’s supposed to feel. And I shouldn’t have to fight for Ian. He should be the one fighting for me.

Debbie and Marlene hustle me back to the auditorium. They’ve already started auditioning for Gertrude. Mr. Gabor has chosen the speech where Hamlet accuses Gertrude of behaving like a whore, and Gertrude suddenly realizes that she’s fallen in love with the wrong guy.

Yeah, this is a part I can do. ’Cause what person doesn’t have some inky-black spots lying at the bottom of their soul?
And what woman doesn’t fall madly in love with a guy who’s not the man she thought she knew?

Mr. Gabor calls my name. I grab a copy of the monologue sheet and stride onto the stage. I feel the spotlight on my face, and I’m front and center, where I belong. This is my shot, and I’m ready. I tap into my anger, and I rip into that role. Even Ian looks impressed. Oh yeah, I’m hot, and no one’s going to stop me now.

A few minutes later, Mr. Gabor calls Julia’s name, but of course, she isn’t in the room. Geoff rushes off to look for her, but he can’t find her anywhere. Well, that’s her own damn fault.

“I wonder what happened to Jules,” Ian says.

“I guess she got cold feet,” I say, slipping my arm through his. “She’s always been the nervous type.”

“Tell Me Why”

I don’t go back to the auditorium. I get my coat from my locker and walk home. Fortunately, Mom is at work, so I climb into bed with my clothes on and just lie there. My scalp feels raw to the touch. I’m defeated, but I’m not surprised. This was a cosmic inevitability. I felt it from the first day I met Carla; it was just a matter of time.

The telephone rings. I know it’s Geoff. I don’t want to talk to him, but soon my mom will be home, and I certainly don’t want Geoff talking to her.

“Hello,” I say.

“Jules. Thank God! What happened?” Geoff asks.

“I’m sick.”

“Nerves?”

“No.”

There’s a pause. “Jules, listen, I’m still at school. If you come back right now, Mr. Gabor will squeeze you in.”

“I don’t want to. I’ve changed my mind.”

“Are you crazy? After all that work? You’re too good to quit! I’m coming to get you right now.”

“No—”

“Be ready in two minutes—”

“I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“I don’t believe you!” Geoff says. “What’s wrong?”

But I can’t tell him any of this. “I’m sorry; I have to go,” I say.

I hang up and return to my room. Mollie was wrong about the possibility of transformation. Square pegs are square pegs. Caterpillars are not butterflies. Dreamers get slapped down. This is what happens when you transgress. High school has its hierarchy, and that’s something I should have known. I’m just a very foolish girl who had to learn the hard way.

At school, everyone is talking about the auditions. Callbacks are this afternoon. I avoid Geoff; I can’t face his disappointment. At lunch, I’m heading toward the library, past the drama studio, when Mr. Gabor steps into the hall. My stomach drops. I duck behind a group of grade twelves, but Mr. Gabor spots me in the crowd. “Epstein! My office,” he barks. He doesn’t wait for a response. He turns and I follow. Students glance over their shoulders, curious to see who the unlucky victim is.

Mr. Gabor orders me to shut the office door. He points to a chair. I sit. He stands. He towers over me and allows for a dramatic pause, as only Mr. Gabor can do. If there’s one thing he’s taught us, it’s how to play the pauses. “Silence can be
more powerful than words,” he always says. Of course, I already know this, because silence is my favorite weapon.

Mr. Gabor leans against the edge of his desk. “Ms. Epstein,” he begins in a mock friendly tone, “yesterday was audition day. You signed up for two parts, but then you vanished into thin air. Naturally, I was concerned.” He folds his arms across his chest and waits.

“I had a change of heart,” I mumble.

“Pardon me?”

“I’m not right for those roles.”

“We’re talking about acting, not typecasting,” Mr. Gabor says.

I hesitate. What can I say? “Well, for one thing, I can’t do Ophelia,” I murmur.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like her,” I explain. “She’s weak. She lets everyone walk all over her. She’s so pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” Mr. Gabor asks. He glares at me with black crow eyes. I shrink back into my chair. Mr. Gabor paces the room. “Epstein, why does Ophelia go mad?” It’s like he’s giving me a pop quiz.

I scramble for an answer. “Because Hamlet treats her badly. And because she loves him and she thought he loved her back.”

“And …”

“And, she feels betrayed?”

“Yes. Betrayed, by a bunch of self-serving, ambitious men. Her own father exploits her in his sycophantic desire to please the king. Hamlet spurns her. Her heart is broken. She’s an innocent girl trapped in an era where women are treated like chattel. Is that what you’d call pathetic, Epstein? You don’t feel any compassion for Ophelia?”

I gulp. “Well, yeah. I do.”

“Then …” He opens his palms, questioningly.

“She sings,” I say. “I can’t sing.”

Mr. Gabor sighs, exasperated. “Then, Gertrude.”

“She’s despicable,” I say.

Mr. Gabor laughs. “Despicable is good. Actors love despicable. It gives them something to work with. It’s like getting cast as the Wicked Witch. No one wants Dorothy; the witch is the scene-stealer. The witch has balls! And so does Gertrude. Gertrude is a lady seduced by powerful men. Interesting type, wouldn’t you say?”

I nod. I look at my feet. On any other day, I’d be thrilled to be sitting here discussing Shakespeare with Mr. Gabor, but today, I just don’t see the point. If Mr. Gabor is trying to make me feel bad about passing up a chance to do
Hamlet
with him, he’s doing a great job.

Mr. Gabor watches me. Finally, he says, “Epstein, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m having callbacks this afternoon. Since you were ‘struck down by illness’ yesterday, I will allow you to audition today.” He picks up his
papers and straightens them. “You may leave now.” He nods toward the door.

I sit on the chair like a lump of clay. His offer is generous. More than generous. He’s giving me a chance to prove myself. He doesn’t have to do that. I wish I could throw my arms around him and thank him, or tell him the truth about what’s going on, but it’s not just Carla, or Ian, or my mom. I’m in the wrong place. Someone put my card in the wrong file. My whole world is cracking up.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gabor, I can’t,” I say. Mr. Gabor looks up, surprised. And then, in a stupid attempt at humor, I add, “So, who’s your second choice for Gertrude? Carla?”

Mr. Gabor’s face turns to stone. He says, “Ms. Cabrielli does have a callback today, and yes, she is a challenge to work with, but unlike you, Epstein, I like a challenge.”

That stings. I lurch out of my chair. Mr. Gabor reaches the door first. “Epstein, talk to me,” he says. I shake my head. He hunches over. He peers right into my face, forcing me to look at him. Softly, he says, “You’re making a mistake, and not just about the audition. You’re living too much up here,” he taps his head, “like Hamlet. At some point, you’re going to have to step into the light, whether it’s the stage light or the light of day.”

Tears well up in my eyes. “I can’t,” I say.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.”

He sucks in a breath. “That’s too bad. You could’ve learned a lot. And you could’ve had fun.”

“I know,” I say. I push open the door. I bolt out of his office and race down the hall, but there’s nowhere to run to. I’m a fool and a coward. I’m a child in a fairy tale who’s lost in the woods, and it’s getting dark outside, and no one’s coming to rescue me anymore.

“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”

The morning after callbacks, the cast list is tacked to the studio door. I know I really aced the auditions, but still, my stomach is churning like a cement mixer. I muscle my way through the huddle of theater students, and there, beside Gertrude is … drum roll … 
Carla Cabrielli
! My name! I scream my head off. And just below, for Laertes,
Ian Slater
!