The Pretty One(55)

“Acting is acting,” Drew says with an authority that’s self-assured instead of arrogant. “It doesn’t matter where you are. Onstage or in the production studio. It’s all the same.”

He gives me a smile of encouragement.

“Whew,” I say, jiggling the top of my hoodie. “It’s usually freezing in here, but today it’s smoking. Aren’t you hot?”

“Not really. But then again, I don’t have a coat and a hoodie over my T-shirt.” I can tell by his grin that he thinks he’s pretty funny. But then, I do, too.

I take off my peacoat, followed by my hoodie. Although I hated to part with it, I was not about to have another sweating fit like I did yesterday.

“What does your T-shirt say?” Drew squints at my boobs.

“Mmm…mmm…good!” he reads out loud.

I’m gaping at my B cups bulging out from underneath my sister’s undersized T-shirt as if I’ve never seen them before in my life. Why did I take off my hoodie? And why didn’t I pay more attention to what I wore? “Campbell’s soup,” I say quickly. “Gotta love it.”

“Yeah.” He grins. “I do.”

I shake my head. I can imagine Lucy snickering to herself. I take a quick look around to make sure no one is hiding behind the garbage cans.

Drew stands in the rectangular open space in between the old set screens stacked against the wall and the table saws. “This is our stage,” he begins.

Since I’m an adult (not really) and a professional (not really), I stop staring at my boobs and put the Campbell soup incident behind me (not really) as I walk over to him.

Drew is suddenly all business and we begin running our lines, doing the blocking as if there’s nothing unusual about our location at all. I have to admit that Drew might be onto something about this whole rehearsing in the production studio thing. I am better than I was onstage. I’m even better than I was in the classroom. I interrupt him once to ask if we can do the actual performance in here, but he just smiles at me and keeps going. Even here, though, I’m still nervous, and by the time we get to the first kiss at the bottom of page five, my knees are so wobbly I have to keep a hand on the table saw just to steady myself.

Drew stops and sets down his script. He crosses his arms and leans against a stool. “I have an idea. I’d like to try this exercise with you that I saw a teacher use once to help an actress get through a love scene in a play. It’s a little like hypnosis. Are you game?”

“You’re not going to make me act like a chicken, are you?”

Drew just smiles and I’m prepared to squawk. “I want you to remember the last time you felt really, really attracted to someone. Close your eyes and think about him…try to picture him in your mind.”

Not a hard assignment, considering my one eye is still open.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Drew advises. “And we’re going to switch gears. I want you to picture a hot fudge sundae.”


I close my eyes tight, attempting to visualize my sundae. It’s in a big parfait glass, loaded with whipped cream, no nuts, and no cherry. Four scoops of creamy chocolate-chip cookie dough loaded with thick hot fudge.

“Take a bite,” he says. “Think about how good it tastes, how good it feels on your tongue…sliding down your throat. As it melts, I want you to commit every sensation to memory as if this is the last hot fudge sundae you’re ever going to have and you want to remember every single second, every single detail.”

In my mind, I see Drew that first day of school, sitting on the window ledge, reading a dictionary. His hair is tousled, his backpack swung over his shoulder.

“Now, I want you to think about your crush. I want you to imagine touching your lips to his. I want you to savor his lips just like you did that sundae, enjoying the touch, the feel, the sensation…and then, when you’re ready, I want you to become the character of the Girl. I want you to kiss me.”

I open one eye. Drew is standing across the room from me, his arms slightly behind him while he leans against the table saw as casually as if he is going to play ball with a friend, as in, I’ve kissed so many girls, what’s one more?

I close my eyes again as my heart continues to clang at warp speed.

Focus.

I open my eyes and stand up straight. I take a deep breath and begin to march toward Drew like a soldier entering a battlefield.

“Okay, stop,” he says. “You look terrified.”

I tuck my shaking hands behind me as I flash him what I have the feeling is an idiotic grin. He bites his lower lip as he looks into the distance, thinking if it looks like a doofus, talks like a doofus and acts like a doofus, it’s a doofus.

“Just forget about the whole sundae thing,” he says finally. “It was dumb anyway. I want you to tell me how to work the miter saw.”

“The miter saw?”

“That one,” he says, pointing to the saw beside me. “The one you used to make the star.”

I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Kissing scene postponed! “Well, first you…” I begin, as I head toward it.

“Don’t show me,” he says. “Just stand still and tell me.”

Huh?

He nods, encouraging me to continue.

“All right.” This is going to be a little tough, but I’m not about to complain. Anything is easier than a stage kiss. “First, you need to turn it on.”