In Harmony(54)

“Anything to help.”

He scanned the theater and found Isaac running lines with Mel Thompson, who played Horatio.

“Isaac,” Martin called. “Can I borrow you for a minute?”

My heart started pounding in my chest as Isaac came up the stage steps. Or came anywhere near me, I suddenly realized.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“In this scene, Ophelia is describing to yours truly how Hamlet barged into her room with his clothes a mess, acting strange enough to frighten her.”

Isaac nodded. “Okay.”

“Willow’s having trouble finding her motivation. So why don’t we do this?” Martin turned to me. “Willow, I’ll read your lines. Isaac, you act them out. It’ll give Willow an idea of the severity of the situation.”

Isaac looked at me as he answered, “If you think it would help?”

I nodded. “I want to get this right.”

He looked reluctant, but we took our spots, me sitting in a chair pretending to sew.

“Very well,” Martin said. “Hamlet has flown into your room, looking pale and disheveled, his knees knocking, et cetera.”

Isaac took one step and somehow made it seem he’d rushed onto the stage. His eyes were wild in his bruised face. His breath came in short hard gasps, his fists clenching and unclenching.

As Martin read Ophelia’s description of Hamlet’s behavior, Isaac performed them.

He flew at me and grabbed my wrist, hard, hauling me out of the chair. I barely found my feet when he pushed me away, holding me at arms’ length but his fingers still dug into my wrist. The wild intensity of his gaze flew over my face again and again, as if he were trying to memorize me. My heart began to pound, this time with a hard, panicked clanging that made me want to tear my arm out of his grasp. He moved close to me, bent his head toward mine, his nose in my hair, inhaling me. Then he exhaled and let it out on a soft groan of regret as he let me go.

I pulled my wrist to my thudding chest. Isaac backed away, his eyes locked on mine. He turned and walked off stage, all the while watching me over his shoulder, heedless of anything in his way. He melted into the curtains and I stared after, trembling, my legs weak.

Martin dropped the script to the floor, jerking my wild gaze to him. He was Polonius now, and he grabbed me by the shoulders, seizing the moment while I was still trapped in it.

“Come, go with me. I will go seek the king. This is the very ecstasy of love.” He gave me a slight shake. “What, have you given him any hard words of late?”

I stared at him, my eyes wide and unblinking, my mind translating the question.

What did you do to him to make him act that way?

My words emerged on a whisper. “No, my good lord. But as you did command.”

Polonius held me for half a second more. When he let go, it was Martin’s face breaking into a jubilant smile. “You got it,” he said and pulled me in for a hug. “You’re a natural, Willow. Raw talent. I’m so grateful you found my theater.”

“Thanks,” I managed. “Can I use the restroom?”

I didn’t wait for an answer, but hurried out of the theater to the ladies’ room in the lobby, where I splashed cold water on my face a half-dozen times.

“You’re okay,” I told the girl in the mirror. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

When rehearsal ended, I surveyed the remaining actors, wondering who I could ask for a ride home. I decided I could be a big girl and call an Uber. I booked the ride, then went outside into the chilly air. The days were getting warmer now, but the nights still held a little bite of winter.

“Hey.”

I looked around and saw Isaac leaning against the wall, one foot flat against the bricks, a cigarette tucked between his lips. Hulking and battered in his black leather jacket, he’d look dark and dangerous to everyone. But not to me.

“Hey,” I said. “Thanks for helping out tonight.”

He looked away for a moment, his jaw hard, then back to me. “You were scared.”

I tucked my hair behind my ear, shrugged. “You were intense. Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?”

“So it was all an act.”

“They don’t call it acting for nothing.”

He snorted smoke out of his nose. “I didn’t like scaring you like that.”

“Why?”

“It felt real.”

I crossed my arms. “You think we don’t feel the same when we watch you? In Oedipus I was scared you’d actually gouged your damn eyes out.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” I tilted my chin up in mock arrogance and flipped a lock of hair over my shoulder. “And maybe I’m just that good.”

He nodded, not smiling at the joke. “I know you are but…”

“But what?”

He thought for a minute, took a drag off his smoke. “When I get really into a scene, it’s because I’m connecting to some real emotion or memory within it.”

“I’m familiar with Method acting, yes,” I said, clinging to snark to keep the conversation from where Isaac was taking it.

He glanced at me, then looked away. “I don’t want to get all up in your business, but tonight when I got close to you, when I grabbed you…” He ground his teeth. “The fear I saw in your eyes…”