Embrace the Grim Reaper (4 page)

Chapter Five

Casey blinked. “Excuse me?”

The director frowned. “I spoke with you ages ago. You’d think you could show up before we all grew old.”

Casey placed her feet flat on the floor and eased herself up out of her seat to stand in front of the director, aware of her personal space and how close he was to violating it. “I’m not here for you.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Oh, really? Then who, exactly, are you here for? Those people?” He jerked a thumb backward toward the stage. “When I get a commitment from an actress, no matter how good she thinks she is, I expect her to be here for me. I don’t tolerate prima donnas.”

Movement behind the man distracted Casey, and Eric peered around the man’s shoulder, his face flooding with red.

“Thomas,” he said. “She’s not the one.”

The director stared at her for a few more seconds before acknowledging Eric. “Well, then, who is she?”

The rest of the cast was there now, too, and they all watched her, expressions much more animated than five minutes before on the stage. Eric grinned. “Her name’s Casey Smith. She helped out at dinner tonight.”

Thomas looked her up and down. “I should’ve known. I bet you couldn’t act your way out of a paper bag, could you, sweetheart?”

A roar filled Casey’s head. She glanced at Eric’s face, now white, and gave a grim smile. She forced herself to look back at the director. “You don’t think so?” She held out her hand.

He sneered at her outstretched palm. “What?”

“A script, please.”

“But—”

“Or a paper bag.”

The director’s eyes narrowed at the snickers from the cast. “Eric?”

“Yes.” Eric’s face was rigid with suppressed laughter.

“Get the lady a script. And read something with her.”

“Sure thing.” He turned to the woman he’d been acting with and smiled. “Care to share your script, Becca?”

Becca’s face tightened, and she glanced at Casey. “Eric…”

“Come on, Becca. What can it hurt?”

Becca took a deep breath, looked at the ceiling, and reached into her purse. “Here.”

“Thanks. Come on, Casey.”

Casey eased around the director and accompanied Eric down the aisle to the stage.

“You know this play?” Eric asked.

“Intimately.”

He glanced at her with surprise. “Any choice, then, on what scene we do?”

Her lips formed a tight line. “How about the conflict scene with Sir Andrew and Viola?”

“I guess that would be—”

“How are you with fighting?”

He gave a soft chuckle. “You mean in real life or on the stage? I’ve got experience with both. Although off-stage it’s been much less violent.” He grinned. “But as you can see, we haven’t graduated to using practice swords yet. He—” He jerked a thumb toward the director “—says he’s waiting till he’s convinced we’re ready for the weapons. I think he just doesn’t know any fight choreographers.”

Casey laughed. “We don’t need swords. If I say two left jabs and a half roundhouse before a contact stomach punch, uppercut, and a sit fall, would that mean anything to you?”

They’d reached the stage, and Eric held back to let her climb the stairs ahead of him. “I’d know what you mean, but without practice I’m afraid I could hurt you.”

She waited for him at the top of the stairs. “Oh, I’m not afraid of you hurting me. You ready?”

He hesitated, then stepped forward. “I guess. Although you’ve got me a little scared now.”

“No worries. Let’s show this blowhard a thing or two.”

Eric shook his head. “All right. Hey, Jack. Aaron. Come on up and do this scene with us. Jack, you be Toby. I’ll read Sir Andrew—”

Aaron, the older of the two kids, jumped onto the stage. “But that’s my part.”

“Just for now, you play Fabian. Please?”

Aaron shrugged, and grinned. “Fine with me.”

“All right. Casey and Aaron, enter from over there. Jack and I will do our lines from here.”

Casey followed Aaron to the wings on stage left. Her blood tingled in her veins, and she opened and closed her hands, bouncing on her feet as she listened. Jack began his lines in Sir Toby’s drunken fashion. “Why, man, he’s a very devil; I have not seen such a firago.”

Casey closed her eyes and breathed in as he finished his line, as Eric joined in with his rich voice. She let her chest expand and contract, and relaxed completely as she waited for the entrance line. When it came close, she opened her eyes to find Aaron waiting for her to cue their movement.

“This shall end without the perdition of souls,” Jack/Toby stated
.

Casey and Aaron stepped onto the stage. Casey watched and waited as the others read through the lines leading up to hers. She, as Viola, took in the scene and her opponent, Sir Andrew.

Toby gestured to her. “There’s no remedy, sir; he will fight you for ‘s oath’s sake…”

Casey waited for the end of the line and began hers. “Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man.”

The scene continued to its ending, with Casey’s lines assuring the others that the fight was against her will. Eric pounced, taking two quick left jabs at her face. She ducked, then blocked his roundhouse, aimed at her head.

Getting her balance, she swung at his stomach, making light contact as he let out a whoosh of air fit for an NBA flopper. She finished him off with an uppercut, her hit upstage of Eric’s face, while he jerked his head with perfect timing, using the hit to slowly send him backward, where he landed hard on his butt.

Casey stepped over him, raising her foot as if to finish him off, when Jack jumped in with the next line, using a different voice for the character of Antonio. “Put up your sword!” He giggled, completely not in character, and Aaron joined right in.

Casey, breathing hard, relaxed her stance and stepped back, holding out a hand to Eric. After a brief study of her face, probably to make sure she wasn’t bluffing and was really about to take him down again, he allowed her to help him up. Together they turned toward the house, which sat in complete silence.

Casey paused, blinking at the lights, and closed her eyes as a rush of memories swept through her. The lights. The musty smell. The audience.

Omar’s face.

Reuben’s…

She swayed, and felt Eric’s hand wrap around her arm.

“You all right?” His voice was anxious.

She swallowed and opened her eyes. “I’m fine.” She pulled her arm away. “Thanks.”

He gestured at the stage behind them. “That was…amazing. I mean… Who are you?”

Applause came suddenly from the two actors on stage with her. After glancing at them, Casey put a hand over her eyes and squinted into the house. The woman, Becca, still stood in the aisle, her eyes wide, hands clutching her bag. The director, his face a blank mask, sat silently in the fourth row, his hand under his chin as he stared at Casey.

The young men hollered again. “Bravo! Encore!”

Casey shook herself, and handed Eric the script. “Think I got out?”

Eric’s forehead creased. “What?”

“Of the paper bag.”

He smiled. “Oh, I’d say you got way out, crumpled it up, and threw it away.”

“Good.”

She turned and walked across the stage, descending the stairs. She brushed past Becca, but stopped when the woman called her name.

“You will do the part, won’t you?”

Casey looked at Becca’s face, which was filled with something Casey would’ve called desperation, if it hadn’t seemed over-dramatic. “No. I’m just passing through. The part’s yours.”

Becca’s face crumpled. “But I don’t want it. I’ve been waiting for you.”

That again. “Look. No one here has been waiting for me. I didn’t even know I was coming.”

“But—”

“Please, Casey. Can’t you stay?” Eric was standing next to Becca now, his face pleading.

Casey shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. What was up with these people?

The other actors joined them, their expressions of awe and humor only slightly dampened. The four of them stood in a tight semicircle, waiting, apparently, for her to say she was staying.

“It actually is my decision, you know,” the director said.

They turned as a whole toward his seat, where he reclined, his hand half covering his face. Slowly he sat up, his hands on the armrests, elbows poking up beside him. He slanted his face toward Casey. “That was very interesting.”

She waited.

“You seem to have some experience.”

She nodded slightly, not really caring one way or the other what he thought.

“But I’m not sure you’re what we really need right now.”

The other four actors gasped as one, then let go with a volley of disagreements. The director held up his hand. “Enough.” He looked at Casey. “You may go.”

“No,” Eric said. “Wait.” He looked past her, toward the director. “You really are as big an idiot as you appear.”

The director’s mouth dropped open, but snapped shut as his face clouded. “You have no right—”

“But I do. And you know it.”

The director’s eye twitched, and he clamped his teeth together. “She is nothing like Ellen. Ellen brought a much more feminine—”

“Ellen’s not here.” Eric glanced at Becca, who’d made a small whimpering sound. “Ellen was…wonderful. We all know that. But this role doesn’t have to be so…so womanly. It can actually use an…earthier feel.” He glanced at Casey, probably hoping she wouldn’t take that wrong. He put an arm around Becca’s shoulders. “Becca doesn’t want to do this. She’s said so. And here—” He swept a hand toward Casey. “She would be different, but come on, Thomas. How could you not see what she just did? She’s perfect.”

Ellen. Casey knew she’d heard that name recently. No. She’d seen it. On the notice about the garage sale for her orphaned children.

Casey cleared her throat. “Didn’t she—Ellen, I mean—last week…”

“Yes,” Eric said. “She died.”

Silence again covered the theater, and Casey looked from face to face. Eric’s sadness, Becca’s discomfort, the two young guys without a clear expression.

And the director’s stubbornly held jaw. “She’s not what we want.”

Eric glanced at the rest of the cast, then back at the director. “Says who?”

The director pushed himself from his seat, held a finger out toward Eric, then let it drop. Stiffly he gathered his belongings—briefcase, coat, umbrella—and put them over his arm. “Fine.” He looked at Casey, his chin held high. “Rehearsal tomorrow evening. Seven-o’clock. Don’t be late. And try to…” He waved a hand at her clothes. “Clean yourself up a little.”

Without another look he swept out the double doors, allowing them to slap shut behind him.

Chapter Six

“I’m sorry,” Eric said. “If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve warned you.”

“Yeah.” Casey shook her head. “I wish you could’ve.”

They sat on a bench outside the theater, the night air still promising rain.

“Thomas is a head case,” Eric said. “He really is.”

Thomas. The director. “And you’re in his play…why, exactly?”

A smile flitted across his face, and he ducked his head toward the street. “Let’s just say it’s penance, and leave it at that.”

Penance. Casey breathed in the cool night air. “Well, I hope what you did to deserve it was worth every moment. Penance like this would cover a lot.”

“It better.”

They sat quietly, and Casey eased her head back, her face toward the sky. “What happened? With Ellen? The notice at the bus stop said she died suddenly.”

“Yeah. She did.”

Casey brought her head down at the pain in his voice. “You knew her well?”

He shrugged. “We were in the play together. She would…she and her kids came to eat supper at the hall.”

Casey studied his profile. “There was no husband in the picture?”

He looked away. “It was just her and the kids.”

“Were her children there tonight? At dinner?”

“No.” He leaned forward, his hands in prayer position between his knees. “They’ve gone to stay with their grandparents. Ellen’s folks. They don’t live in Clymer.”

Casey nodded, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she had to force herself not to jump at the sight of Death, who sat on the other side of Eric, picking fluffy buttered kernels of popcorn from a paper bag and chewing them with gusto.

“How did she die?” Casey asked.

Death shrugged, looking at Eric with interest.

Eric’s face remained averted. “They say she killed herself.”

Casey sucked in her breath.

Death made a face.

“Was she…did she have an illness?”

Eric gave a sad laugh. “Not unless you call unemployment being sick.”

“Oh. She got laid off from HomeMaker.”

“Right before Christmas. In the first wave.”

“And since then?”

He sat up again, still looking at his hands. “She was doing odd jobs, where she could find them. But there aren’t a lot here. No one else in Clymer is in the position to hire a cleaning lady or an extra hand at a store. The Burger Palace at the edge of town was about it. Not that she could support herself and her kids with that.”

Casey shook her head slowly. A sad story. A painful story.

Death stared at Casey with wide eyes, obviously wanting her to ask Eric more questions. But about what?

Eric’s face was pale, his lower lip sucked in, like he was trying not to cry.

Casey nodded. “You…cared about her.”

“What? Of course I did. I care about all—”

“But she was special.”

Eric closed his eyes. “I thought maybe…even with the kids…maybe partly because of the kids…we might…” He stopped. “She was such a strong person. I never would’ve thought she… But I guess all that doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

“Of course it does.” She looked at Death. “Just because someone dies doesn’t mean she isn’t still important to you.”

Death tossed a popcorn kernel in the air and deftly caught it and ate it.

Eric turned his face toward Casey. “You sound like you’ve had some experience.”

Casey grimaced. “Exactly what Thomas said.”

Eric gave a small laugh. “Please, don’t compare me to him.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you nauseated.”

He smiled, and glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s getting late. Want to go somewhere for something to eat? Or get a drink?”

The two full meals Casey had eaten had more than filled her up. As for the drink…

It had been just before her last birthday. The party with Reuben’s colleagues. They’d closed a huge deal and were celebrating. Reuben’s boss was happy, standing rounds for the whole crew. Casey had stuck pretty much to the champagne. Reuben to his usual Corona, with lime. Not too much. Nothing excessive.

She’d caught her husband’s eye across the room, where he was held captive by one of his team, a loud-talking IT expert, who believed the world would be a better place run entirely by computers. Reuben had tolerated the ideas because the kid knew his stuff. And because Reuben was just that kind of guy.

Reuben had given her that smile. The one that said he was just biding his time before they’d stayed long enough and he could take her home to their bed. She’d worn the red dress, the one he especially liked. She’d raised her glass to her lips, holding his gaze, and had blushed at the thought of what would happen later.

“Thanks,” she said now, to Eric. “But I really don’t…drink. And I’m not hungry.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, then, can I take you to your hotel? Or wherever you’re staying?”

She looked at Death. “I don’t actually have a place to stay.”

Eric sat up, blocking Death from her view. “Really? You want to stay at my place? I’ve got an extra room, with a futon. But if you don’t like futons you can have my bed and I can sleep on the futon.”

Casey looked at Eric’s face, alive again with helpfulness. “Thanks, Eric, but I think… Is there a hotel or something close by? Something not too expensive?”

His face fell, but he covered it up quickly. “Sure. The Sleep Inn is right out by the highway. Nothing great, but they have beds.”

“That’s all I need. And a shower.”

He grinned. “I’m pretty sure they have bathrooms, too.” He swung himself up, off the bench. “I walked today, so we’ll have to go by my place for my car.”

Casey stood, thinking about Eric’s car. “You know, I can just walk to the hotel. It’s out by The Burger Palace, right?”

A shadow passed across his face, probably at the thought of Ellen’s last job. “It’s at least a mile. I can run and get my car, if you want. Bring it here.”

“No. No, that’s okay.” She looked Death in the face. “I really prefer walking. It’s more interesting.”

Eric looked confused at that, but held up his hands. “Whatever you want. I can walk with you.”

“But then you’d have to walk back. You go on home. Really. I’m used to it. I can take care of myself.”

He looked uncertain. “Yeah. I’ve been curious about that.”

She’d been wondering how soon he’d ask, how long he could contain his questions about where she’d come from, and why. “Practice tomorrow evening at seven?”

He gave a little smile, apparently seeing through her change of subjects. “And dinner at five, if you want to come by.”

“To help.”

“To help.”

“Okay. I’ll be there.”

“Good.” He looked down the dark street. “You’re sure I can’t—”

“I’m sure. Goodnight, Eric.”

“Well…goodnight.”

Casey hefted her bag onto her back and watched Eric walk away. He stopped once, about half a block away, to look back. She raised a hand, and he resumed his walk.

Casey took a deep breath and walked in the opposite direction, stopping in front of Death, who still sat on the bench. “I suppose you want to come along? There will probably be two beds.”

Death looked after Eric, who was just disappearing around a corner. “But it won’t be nearly as fascinating as if you’d gone home with him.”

Casey shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“No. Not impossible. Just picky. Have fun at your cheap hotel.”

And Casey found herself standing in front of an empty park bench, the breeze blowing an empty popcorn bag to the ground.