Shakespeare's Valentine Pt. 02

22.

The following day, I didn't see much of Cherri. She had an early costume fitting, and then she and Gil rehearsed 5.1, the sleepwalking scene, and the only scene in which she appears without Macbeth.

I spent most of the morning learning fights. Our fight master, Alison MacDowell--she preferred being called Mac--was a tiny woman with the lean, ropy body of a marathoner, the physical speed and agility of a mongoose fucking with a cobra, and the patience of a saint. This became apparent as she built the fight between Macbeth and young Siward, played for us by Andi Tan, pronouns: they, them. Andi was also to be our fight captain, which meant that they had to learn all the fights so that they could run a fight call before each performance, and make sure that all the fights stayed safe. Mac worked quickly. Andi did not. They took copious notes, and asked lots of questions, and the upshot was that a ninety second fight took almost two hours to build. Didn't bother Mac, but it did mean we'd be lucky to get a quarter of the way through the much longer Macduff fight. Kal, an experienced fighter, was annoyed at being kept waiting, and lost patience with Andi. The result was an hour of heavy handed cuts and spotty targeting, during which I almost lost an eye, a kidney, and my temper, in that order, and after which Mac finally lost patience with Kal. They spent the last half-hour before lunch screaming at each other in the hallway outside the rehearsal room, while Andi hurriedly organized their notes. I snuck off to the green room to drill lines.

After lunch I had a long fitting with Simone, designing our costumes. The same woman who had--if my Lady was to be believed--taken such pleasure in displaying Cherri's boobs in the previous Oak Ridge As You Like It. Made me wonder about the Lady Macbeth costumes. Alright, come the fuck on, Brenner! I mentally smacked myself around a little. This was the downside of "the idea." Channeling my infatuation with Cherri into character development didn't diminish it. In fact, the way she'd responded had, if anything, deepened it. And since it was deeper, I had to be that much more careful to avoid drowning in it. I pushed all thoughts of Cherri from my mind--took some doing, but I managed it--and let Simone's crew measure, drape, and wrap.

23.

Cherri had made a goodnight kiss a condition of our arrangement, but since we hadn't spent the evening together, I thought a text might be the polite way to go. Accordingly, at about 10:30, I sent: "My Lady, may I stop by to say goodnight?"

Fifteen minutes later, I got a return. Just her apartment number.

Huh.

24.

I knocked, heard movement, and then the door opened. Cherri stood there in a long cream colored terry cloth bathrobe over what looked like red plaid pajamas. No makeup.

I'd never seen Cherri without makeup. Not a surprise. Like many actors and actresses I knew, Cherri's public persona was...well, maybe the word I want is curated. As a profession, we like to control how we're perceived. I keep my head shaved. I'd rather look like a tough guy than like...a public defender, a CPA, a grocer, or whoever comes to mind when you think of a guy with a fringe of graying hair around a bald scalp. Cherri liked to look glamorous. She emphasized her large, lustrous eyes with artfully applied liner, shadow and mascara. She liked to draw attention to her full, pouted lips with deep red glossy lipsticks. And her hair was...well, never having had much hair to work with myself, I didn't know exactly what it was, but it was always striking, stylish, always...a part of her look.

Now, her hair was brushed long and straight down her back. It looked a little wet; maybe she'd just come out of the shower. I think she saw me notice, because she turned away. In a small voice, she said: "Oh God, I look hideous, don't I?"

For all of the time I spent thinking about her, I didn't know Cherri very well. I'd certainly never seen her like this: subdued, sad?

"You really don't, Cher. You're a beautiful woman. Tonight's just a different kind of beautiful."

That got me a wan smile: "You're full of shit, you know that? But you're sweet. I don't suppose you brought that bottle of Makers?"

"No, but I can run down and get it, if you want a little."

"Would you mind?"

"I'll be right back."

25.

Drinks poured, sitting at her kitchen table, I asked: "Hey, wifey-poo, is everything alright?"

She gave a little snort: "You know all those crap books men write called stupid shit like: 'What Do Women Want?'"

"Sure, I've got three on the nightstand."

"You probably do. Well, not to reveal the secrets of the sisterhood, but if you cherish any hope of getting laid even once before you die, you will never again employ the phrase 'wifey-poo.'"

"I'll rephrase the question. Seriously, Cherri, are you okay?"

She sighed. "I've had better days. The whiskey helps. Thanks."

"Want to talk about it?"

She took a few seconds to look at me. "Not really. Or...maybe not tonight. We're still doing dinner on Saturday, right?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Maybe then, if you don't mind letting me vent a little."

"Sure. Whatever you need."

"Whatever I...? She got up and moved around the table to me. I stood up just in time to catch her. She walked straight into my arms, leaned her head on my shoulder, and began to cry. There was no real sound, other than a slight catch in her breath. She wasn't sobbing. There were just tears running down her face. I could feel them, warm and wet on the skin of my neck.

I said: "Hey, Hon, whatever it is I'm..."

She said: "Shhh! Just hold onto me, okay?"

Easy enough.

26.

When she'd gotten whatever it was out of her system, she walked me to the door. Standing facing me, she held both of my hands and smiled up at me, a little sadly. "Don't ask me anything tonight. Probably I'll tell you all about it on Saturday, but you know what? I really should have just seduced you over the summer. Then we could go to bed, and you could just...fuck all my troubles away."

I opened my mouth, not sure what I was about to say, but she stopped me. And when she spoke again, some of last night's playfulness was back in her voice

"But no! You had to get all method and stuff. So for now, you've made your bed, and I'm not allowed to lie in it." She stuck out her lower lip in a sexy pout. "Too bad. Now, my Thane, where's my goodnight kiss?"

I spun her around and smacked her hard across the rump. The sound, and probably some of the shock value, was absorbed by the bathrobe, but she still gave a surprised, and very sexy, little squeak.

"Minx!" I could already feel my breath coming short, and my cock hardening. "I ought to put you over my knee and smack that pretty round ass of yours until you beg for mercy!"

"Ooh, promises, promises! But if you're really going to spank me..." she turned back to me, wound her arms around my neck, and whispered into my ear, "don't you think I ought to be naked, so you can see my little bottom getting all warm and pink?"

I groaned, and she giggled. "Hmm, so we're agreed. Now kiss me!"

Five minutes later, she shut the door softly behind me.

Me and my fucking ideas!

27.

"Okay, great. Guys, could we just pause here for a second?"

Cherri, who'd worked with Gil before, gave an exasperated little sigh. I held my peace, but I understood her frustration.

Maddening as our little experiment might be, it did seem to be working. Cherri and I were on fire together! Each time we ran a scene, we found new goodies: points of connection, points of division, physical business, emotional depth. The problem was we weren't always allowed to run the scenes uninterrupted. Gil had a habit of stopping work when he wanted to "clarify a point or two." This usually meant he wanted to articulate some more or less relevant idea about a character or a moment that he wanted...'emphasized' wasn't really the word; maybe 'observed' was more like it. So we'd go back and do the scene with the new 'observation.' It wasn't a bad way of doing business, but Cherri and I both felt we'd moved past the need to discuss every tiny dramaturgical detail. However, Gil was the director, so we did things Gil's way.

"I'm wondering about this whole 'I have given suck...' beat." Saturday afternoon, and we were back on 1.7. Gil turned to Cherri: "Have you, in fact, given suck...?"

Cherri gave him a wry little smile: "That's rather a personal question, don't you think, Darling?"

Gil turned pink. Glad it wasn't just me. "No, no! Sorry, I don't mean you, Cherri. I mean has Lady Macbeth...?"

Cherri interrupted: "I know, Darling. I get it. Has Lady M ever nursed a child? Has she ever had a child?"

Gil: "Right, what I mean is, I'm assuming she has, or rather they have."

Cherri: "And that the child died in infancy?

Gil: "Or something, yes. Dai, do you have any thoughts on this...?"

I said: "I think she certainly had a child, but I don't think that they did."

Cherri looked at me, startled. "Wait, really? I always assumed they'd lost a son. It makes my use of the nursing experience as a tactic to pursuade you to murder all the more chilling. It's the sort of thing I conjured the spirits to help me do. "Unsex me here." Allow me to do things, in the service of our...ambitions that no 'natural' woman would do."

"Absolutely. But I don't think it lessens the chill factor if the child was yours but not mine. I think I'm afraid that I can't have children. The whole idea that I killed Duncan, and damned myself so that Banquo's kids can inherit everything? My obsessing over that eventually drives the first wedge between us. I also think--and this is kind of an actor's secret, but maybe we can find a way to introduce it--I think as the play goes on, and the two of them become more emotionally isolated from each other, I think he's constantly demanding sex. Not like at the beginning, when it was about loving her and seeing her again after time apart. Now I think he's desperate to get her pregnant, and he's terrified that he can't."

Gili: "So wait. Are you saying that she cheated on you, and had a child with another man? Because I don't think..."

Cherri: "No, Darling, you're quite right. That's not our Macbeths, but maybe you--" turning to me--"weren't my first husband. In fact, I think the woman Lady M is based on was married to another lord before she married Macbeth. So you're saying I had a child with my ex?"

Me: "Or something. I think I've never gotten a woman pregnant. And I try not to dwell on it, but other people's kids are just constantly in my face. Duncan has kids, Banquo has kids, Macduff has kids..."

Gil: "Okay, let's see what all that adds to the mix. Let's go from the top."

Cherri: "And Gil, Darling? Please don't stop us this time. I'd like to run this scene at least once before tech."

28.

On the next break, Cherri headed to the back of the theater to make a phone call. It was windy outside, and bitter cold. Eventually she tracked me down in the green room where I was finishing a cup of tea.

"My Thane?"

"My Lady?"

"If you weren't my first husband, how do you think we met?"

I started to answer, but something occurred to me. I stopped talking, and just to mess with her a little, I smiled.

She said: "What?"

I kept smiling.

"You bastard, what?"

I kept smiling. She punched me in the shoulder. I said "Ow"

She smiled sweetly at me and whispered: "You know, when I said I wanted to suck your cock, I didn't say anything about leaving it attached to your body!"

"Graphic."

"So quit smirking, and tell me your idea about how we met!"

"Tonight, after dinner." I gave her a quick peck on the lips. "Break's over!" Then I ducked the couch cushion she threw at me and ran back towards the door of the theater.

29.

Cherri had made a 7:30 reservation at her little French place. I knocked on the door of her apartment at 6:00. She opened up, and took in the sports jacket and tie under my overcoat.

"Well, look at you! My Thane cleans up rather nicely!"

That made me smile a little self consciously, which was good, because it kept me from gaping at her like some moonstruck frog. Lovely and vulnerable as she'd looked with her defenses down the other night, it was clear that my Lady was herself again. Her makeup was flawless, sophisticated and sexy, and she was wearing a long coffee-colored coat over a cream turtleneck sweater and a long skirt. She looked so elegant, I was half ashamed to offer the small bouquet of grocery store flowers I had picked up on my way home from rehearsal.

"And you look ravishing, my Lady. Um, may I present you with...Kroger's finest."

She didn't laugh. She smiled. It was an expression of such simple pleasure that all that elegance and sophistication seemed to recede, and she looked beautiful and young and almost...winsome. Maybe somebody should have given her a crack at Juliet after all.

"Dai Brenner." I wasn't sure if she'd go on. Didn't matter to me. Turns out I just enjoyed listening to her say my name. She brought the flowers to her nose, breathed in and looked at me from under long mascaraed eyelashes. Then she reached out a hand, stroked my cheek, leaned in and kissed me, very softly and gently, on the lips.

"I'll let you ruin my lipstick later." she whispered, and then the spell was broken. Flirty, sassy, funny Cherri reappeared in an instant. I let go a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. She turned back towards the kitchen saying: "Give me a second. I have to find something to put these in." Then she came back, handed me a key fob, and took my arm.

"Let's go. Silver RAV-4 out front. I'll navigate."

30.

We were headed to Parsons Springs, maybe 40 miles southwest of Oakhurst, driving in the dark through a soft, wet snowfall, which made visibility a little dicey.

"I never answered your question, did I?" Cherri, leaning back in the passenger seat, seemed content to let me worry about the driving.

"What question?"

"You asked where I was from. When we had that first dinner, on Wednesday, remember?"

"Yes I do."

"Hmm, I'll bet you do. That turned into an...interesting evening." Her voice was amused and provocative.

I said: "Cherri, unless you want to spend the evening digging Clancy's Toyota out of a ditch, you've got to dial back the inner temptress just a bit, at least while I'm driving.

She pouted. "You're no fun! But I love that you think of me as a temptress. It's very Lady M. And by the way," she leaned closer to me and dropped her voice to a sensuous purr, "It makes me sooo hot to have a big, strong, dangerous warrior like you, my Thane, in my sexual thrall!" Then her tone became business-like, as if she were clarifying some intellectual point "But I also think we really need to further specify the sexual nature of their relationship, don't you? I mean, what do you think are some of the slutty little things I do to make you cum really hard?"

My cock was now uncomfortably hard, and, by the way, caught in the gap in my underwear. "Goddamnit, woman, I am literally begging you to just let me get us to the fucking restaurant alive!"

"Ooh, I just love to hear a man beg! You promise to tell me how Macbeth and Lady M met?"

"Is that why you're...?"

"So I actually grew up..."

"You are such a bitch."

"Rude. And anyway, hush! I'm answering your question."

I chuckled. Couldn't help it. I said: "Yes, darling."

"And they said I couldn't do comedy."

That brought me up short. "What idiot ever said that?"

She waved a dismissive hand: "Oh Chris somebody, this bitter old...whatever who taught a Business of Acting course at Tisch when I was there. He told me: 'Sweetie, get rich young, cause all you got to sell is sex, and nobody's buying past 40.'"

"Charming. Sounds like the kind of shit that got said at Tisch back in the day."

"Yeah, it's supposedly better now. Maybe somebody sued somebody. I don't really keep up."

"Fortunately you've made a career in the American Regional Theater, so like me, you're fabulously wealthy."

She snorted. "Oh definitely. Of course between gigs, I do pimp out farm animals to frat parties. How do you make your millions?"

"Oh, you know, dealing off-brand supplements to alligator hunters on the Gulf Coast. Tell you a secret, though, I'm actually in the pocket of Big Alligator."

She giggled. "Do alligators have pockets?" Then: "Oh, we're getting close. So this road becomes the main drag, and then the place is on the right: Maison d'Argent. You'll probably see a sign."

31.

No sign, and nobody out on the main drag on a cold January night out in the middle of the heartland. With the cones of snowy light under old fashioned street lamps it felt like we were driving through a Hopper painting. But when we got inside we found the restaurant doing a brisk business. It was Saturday night, after all, and this place was reputedly the best food in the county, if not the state. I snuck a surreptitious look at the prices on the menu as we sat down. Depending on how much we drank, this place could easily run to a quarter of my weekly paycheck. Oh well. I'd had some television work the previous year, and I was expecting a couple residual checks that would take up the slack.

Maybe Cherri noticed me glancing at the menu. I hope not. I was happy to buy her dinner. The more time I spent with her, the more fun and intriguing I found her. We ordered. She went with a couple of appetizers. So did I. What can I say? I really do love cheese plates. We also ordered wine, although I would only have the one glass. I was driving, and it was still snowing.

We sat across from each other, and at first we didn't say much. I felt like a fifteen year old in the debate club on a date with the prom queen. Which was stupid. I was a man in my forties sitting across from a co-worker. A very beautiful co-worker. Alright, maybe it was stupid, but it was also kind of fun.

Cherri finished her glass of wine, and sighed. "Oh, that was nice! I really needed that."

I said: "Would you like another?"

"Maybe...why? Are you trying to get me drunk so that you can take advantage of me?"

"Oh no! When I take advantage of you, I want you stone cold sober."

She grinned. "Ooh, yeah, me too! Well, since I'm pretty sure my virtue--such as it is--is safe for this evening, I think I will have another."

When the second glass came, she took a long sip. "Whoa, I'd better pace myself, or I might fall asleep in my vichyssoise. This has been quite a week."

"Yeah, it's an intense play, and Gil can crow all he likes about being almost blocked, but we've got a lot of digging to do post Duncan's murder."

She sighed. "Oh, I'm not even talking about the play."

32.

Ah. I asked: "The other night?"

"Yeah."

A pause, then I said: "You don't have to talk about it if you don't feel..."

"No, no." She sighed. "You know I told my therapist about you."

Well, shit! I had assumed whatever was troubling her had nothing to do with the play, or my little idea, or really anything work-related. Had I done or said something that somehow...affected something she was working on with...?" She must have seen the panicked look in my eyes, because she gave a little laugh. "Sorry, it's not anything...Jesus, you look like your brain's about to explode! Relax. I mentioned you to her, because you're just...never mind. I said good things about you, and the reason I bring it up is that she suggested that if I wanted to talk to somebody...neutral about this, it might be good to talk to you. So..."

Another pause. I said: "Cher, seriously. Only if you want to."

"I know. Okay, here's the thing. I got a subpoena the other day. I'm going to have to testify against a man I was involved with...sexually."

I had no idea what to say to that. "Oh Lord! Cherri, that's...terrible?"