Off Book

10. Ian

10

IAN

“Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!” Act III, Scene II

“I can’t believe she didn’t cancel rehearsal. She knows the theater party is tonight. And she’s going.”

“She shortened it,” I offer.

“Don’t defend her! You’re supposed to be on my side,” Jade says. She kicks her leg in my general direction, but I’m a safe distance away.

Jade is sprawled on the stage floor of the black box theater, where she’s been lying for the past fifteen minutes. We met up before rehearsal to run lines—something that comes way easier now that we’ve run them daily, multiple times a day, for a couple of weeks.

I always do fine when it’s just us lobbing words back and forth, but as soon as we get into rehearsal and I’m supposed to “be in character,” it’s a different story.

Last week’s rehearsal was the best so far. I only had to ask for line five times—something Jade insisted we celebrate by getting a post-rehearsal ice cream in the caf despite that not really seeming like something to celebrate. But Jade likes to celebrate small things, and that’s something I really like about her.

“Are you still going to the party?” I ask.

I’ve never been, but I know about the department party at The Row tonight. Every year, one of the frat houses lets the theater department use their house for a party—some tradition that started years ago, when a brother at the fraternity was a theater major. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard the stories. No one parties like a theater kid.

“Obviously,” Jade says. “We’ll be out of here by eight-thirty? Nine? It just means I have to be late. And not, like . . . fashionably late. Like annoyingly late.”

“What time does the party start?”

“Usually around nine or so.”

“Then you have plenty?—”

“Ian, I’m not going to the party looking like this.” She gestures to her outfit, which is a pair of light gray joggers, tennis shoes, and a lavender graphic tee that she’s cut into a crop top. As usual, her bright red hair is in two space buns on top of her head.

“Why not? I think you look cute,” I say.

I don’t realize what I’ve said until she sits up, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Say what now?” she asks, teasing.

I clear my throat and adjust in my seat. “What’s wrong with that outfit for the party?” I ask, avoiding what I said entirely.

She waits, letting me stew in my awkwardness, her mouth curved into an impish grin. “I want to go back to the part where you think I’m cute.”

“I said you look cute. In that outfit. Specifically.”

“Ohhh, I see, so maybe a different top and it wouldn’t be so cute?” She sits all the way up.

“Right, yeah, or maybe if your hair was just down or . . . or something.” I’m grasping at straws, because we both know she actually looks cute all the time, no matter what top she’s wearing or how her hair is. I fidget, gesturing then clasping my fingers together before wiping my hands on my jeans.

“Oh, if my hair was down. Like this?” She removes her hair ties and shakes out her hair. It’s unkempt and wild, falling just over her shoulders, and curled from where it’s been in the buns. And, of course, she’s even more gorgeous now, somehow.

“Yeah, absolutely hideous now.”

“What’s hideous?” Anastasia asks as she breezes onto the stage. Madison trails behind her clutching two gigantic binders to her chest like they’re precious artifacts instead of just two scripts for a college one-act. “Jade, do you need a brush?”

“The ending of the Game of Thrones TV series is hideous, that’s what,” Jade says, ignoring Anastasia’s jab about a brush, climbing up to her feet and dusting off the back of her legs. She slides her hair ties into her bag and shakes out her hair.

“Did you watch that show?” I ask, a little surprised.

“Of course I did. It was a cultural reset. As if I would miss that,” Jade says.

“That last season really was awful,” Madison says.

“Atrocious storytelling,” Anastasia adds, donning her accent for the evening. British.

“Right?” I say. “It’s like, don’t set the story up to go one way and then hard left without any explanation.” This is one of those topics that gets me fired up from zero to sixty in no time at all.

Anastasia and Madison are nodding enthusiastically, rolling their eyes in agreement and equal frustration. Jade, however, looks bored.

“Don’t even get me started. Every time I think about a certain character’s death, I get choked up,” Anastasia says and then claps her hands suddenly. We all startle. “On that note, let’s get started then, shall we? Bring that emotion into the scene with you. The frustration, the sadness, the disappointment, the confusion . . . bring it to this moment. Let’s start from the top. Places, please.”

Jade walks off stage right, and I sit on the makeshift couch. I try to take Anastasia’s advice and channel my feelings about Game of Thrones into my character. I tell myself that I am Ben, and I feel the things I’m feeling because I’ve just experienced something horrific. I’m between a rock and a hard place, and I have to make the hardest decision of my life.

The scene starts, and at first, it feels the same. I feel like I’m playacting; like I’m just me, pretending, saying lines. I’ve always assumed this is how it feels to be an actor. That everyone just feels a little silly, being so fake.

But as the scene goes on and becomes more emotionally intense, I find that my lines come to me easily. The monotony of saying them over and over outside of rehearsal seems to have paid off, and it starts to feel like the words I’m saying are the ones my character would choose to say anyway. For a while, I actually lose myself. I follow my blocking and my lines, but I don’t have to tell myself to do it, just like I don’t have to tell myself to breathe. It all just . . . happens.

We make it all the way through without me having to ask for a single line. When Jade walks offstage and Madison prompts the final sound and light cues, I feel energized, keyed up, and ready to discuss. Jade launches herself out of the offstage area and practically skips over to me, clutching my arm with enthusiasm. Her face is alight with excitement, like maybe she just got the best news of her life.

“You did it!” she scream-whispers, shaking my arm as we settle in on the wooden boxes for Anastasia to give us notes.

Now that we’re off book, our rehearsals have found a kind of rhythm of “performance, notes, go again.” And we do that until we run out of time.

Jade and I settle in for notes.

“First of all, congrats on getting all the way through, and wow, Ian! I really want to celebrate that you didn’t ask for any lines, but that felt really different in, like, a really good way. I’m— Wow, I wasn’t expecting that.” Anastasia’s not even using an accent when she delivers the compliment, and that makes it all the more special. Jade has released my arm, but the energy coming off her buzzes around us.

“Yeah, it was crazy. It’s like I felt like I was Ben.”

Something clicked for me during that run-through, and I feel like I’m seeing a new color for the first time. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

I look over at Jade, who’s also smiling, the look on her face something between proud and impressed. That feels better than any praise from Anastasia.

“I definitely felt something different too.” Jade nods. “That was really good,” she says, but she says it quieter, as if that were just for me.

I expand like a marshmallow in a microwave at her words.

We talk through the one-act a little more, focusing on a couple of key moments and what worked and what we might tweak or change next time. I nod, understanding what Anastasia’s saying. The thought of having another chance to try again invigorates me.

“Instead of starting from the top, I’d like to just try this one section,” Anastasia says as we’re wrapping up our discussion. “Ben—sorry, Ian, we’ll start with Ben’s line, just the end of that ‘begging you to leave your mediocre job’ monologue. And I know I told you to skip the stage direction there about the hug and the kiss, but I do actually want you to do it this time. I didn’t want to worry about any of that until you were both comfortable onstage, but you two have really worked on your chemistry, and it feels a little weird without the kiss, so let’s go ahead and add that back in. Ian, you’ll just do what it says there—you’ll hug her. Jade, you’ll resist the hug, try to pull away, but he’ll keep holding you. Jade, you kind of melt into the hug, and then Ian, go in for a kiss. Remember, you’re trying to convince her in this moment that you love her. She’s told you that your words weren’t enough, basically. So keep that all in mind and go ahead and get into places.”

Jade nods at Anastasia, casual and unfazed by the idea of a stage kiss—very likely not her first. But I’ve never kissed anyone onstage. It feels like something too intimate to do in front of people. I shift in my seat.

“Ian, all good?” Anastasia asks, settling back into her chair.

“Erm, yeah. Sure. Yeah, no, that’s fine.”

Jade snorts and stands, getting into place. Of course she knows how awkward I’m feeling right now, and of course she’s laughing at me.

“All right, from your monologue,” Anastasia cues me. “You can do the whole thing if you want.”

I’m not sure I can muster the same experience starting from the middle like she suggested, so I take a second to get into the headspace, but I can’t quite get there. If this were the first rehearsal, I’d just stumble through what my director told me to do, but I’m feeling confident tonight. Maybe it was the successful run-through without asking for my lines or maybe it’s that the environment feels safe enough, but I’m going to ask for what I need.

“Could we actually start with Jade’s line . . . the one about going on the lam?” I look between Jade and Anastasia.

Anastasia nods and gestures to Jade.

“Of course,” Jade says. She cracks each of her knuckles and takes a deep, slow breath, closing her eyes for a moment.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Anastasia says softly.

I follow Jade’s lead, taking a deep, slow breath and trying to find myself in the middle of an apartment in New York City, with my mistress, on September 12, 2001.

Jade starts, and I find I’m able to slip into Ben’s shoes as if we started from the beginning, so when we get to the moment I’m supposed to hug Jade, it feels pretty natural to do so. We follow the directions, Jade fighting the hug and me holding her until she melts into it. And then she looks up at me, and I know, I KNOW in my brain that it’s Abby looking at Ben, our characters looking at each other, but my brain short-circuits, and for a split second, I swear it’s Jade looking at me and asking me to show her how much I love her.

Not that I love Jade . . . but the way she’s looking at me, it’s as if she wants me to.

I try to slip back into character, to be Ben showing Abby he does love her—not with his words but with this kiss—and when I close my eyes and lean in for the kiss, I try to stay Ben. But the second my lips meet hers, I’m Ian and I’m kissing Jade. The sweet taste of Diet Coke lingers from her last sip. Her lips are soft, and it feels good—it feels right—to be kissing her. How can this be Abby when it’s so distinctly Jade? It freaks me out a little, being Ben and me and kissing Abby and Jade. It’s all too much of a mind-fuck, and I pull away, trying to stay in character. Jade starts to say her next line, but Anastasia interrupts.

“Sorry, that was actually— Okay, yeah, could you do that one more time? Ian, I didn’t buy that you were kissing someone to try to convince them you loved them. And if you didn’t convince me, you sure as hell didn’t convince Abby. So, one more time. Don’t go through the whole monologue—just go a couple lines before, and then let’s do the kiss.”

Jade and I work out which line we’ll start in at, and I wipe my palms on my jeans, taking my place on the stage. Jade takes hers, and I take a deep breath, trying to get into character.

We go through the lines, the blocking, and then I lean in to kiss her, and this time, I try not to think so hard about it. I let my instincts take over and lean into whoever I am in the moment—Ben, Ian, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I do as I’m told and kiss Jade or Abby, or whoever I’m kissing, like I’m telling her how I feel about her.

I cup the back of her head, deepening our kiss, opening her lips with mine. Jade’s fingers curl into me, the press of her nails sharp on my back. The room disappears, as does everyone in it but me and Jade. I forget that she and I are performing, that we’re supposed to be different people in a different situation, kissing for any reason other than the sheer act of wanting to. I lose myself so completely to this kiss that Jade is the one who breaks it, even though I’m the one who was supposed to.

Her face is a mirror of everything I’m feeling inside, some mix of “What the fuck was that magic?” and “Holy shit, can we do that again?” I watch her gaze dart from my eyes to my lips, and I feel confident she wants to kiss me again. The feeling is mutual. If it wasn’t for Anastasia, I’d put my mouth on hers again just to enjoy the taste of her.

Anastasia calls, “Cut!” and I’m sure she gives us directions. I’m sure I follow them, and we get through the rest of rehearsal. But I’m so wholly consumed by the kiss Jade and I just shared that if someone asked me my own name, I don’t think I could tell them. I think I ask for my line at least ten times. My eyes keep landing on her lips, my thoughts circling the question, When can I kiss her again?

It wasn’t like this when we kissed the first time. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about kissing someone, and I almost want to pause rehearsal just to call Seth and ask him if this is normal.

By the time Anastasia calls it a night, I’m aching to touch Jade again. I know she wants to leave to get ready for her party, but I can’t let her leave this building without doing something about this craving I have for her. I’m dizzy with it. It’s like hunger, but it’s not just in my stomach. It’s in my hands, it’s on my lips, it’s burrowed in my chest.

Everyone is packing up and starting to head toward the stairs, Madison and Anastasia leading the way. We’re in the alcove right in front of the stairs, where it’s dark, and I know this is my chance. Before Jade can leave, I drop my backpack and snatch her wrist. She stops abruptly.

“Hey, Jade, real quick, can I show you something?”

She gives me a suspicious glare. “You know I have to go get ready for the party. We had this conversation.” She gestures to her outfit.

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll just be like a minute,” I say.

“You guys coming?” Madison asks.

“We’ll be right there,” I say. “I’ll lock the door when we leave.”

They don’t say anything else. The sound of their footsteps overhead disappears within seconds.

I’m still holding Jade’s wrist, and she looks down at my hand.

“Ian, what is?—”

But before she can finish her sentence, I’ve got her pressed against the wall behind her and my mouth is on hers, hot and needy. She drops her bag and threads her fingers through my hair. The moaning noise she makes into my mouth tells me she wants this as much as I do. I push my hips against hers, pinning her to the wall, her soft curves against me sending blood to a singular place in my body, and I find the name for this ache she’s created in me: desire.

Desire has always been slow to arrive for me. Since middle school, my friends have been obsessed with girls and boys and kissing, and then eventually sex in all its forms, and it’s not that I don’t want to have sex—it just takes me a while to want to. I remember the first time it clicked for me that I really wanted to have sex with someone. I’d been dating a girl in high school for about three months. We’d kissed a lot, and there was some exploration with our hands, and then one day I realized I wanted to see her naked. I wanted to touch and kiss parts of her body that I hadn’t yet. So I did, and we did all kinds of stuff, but we never had sex. The pattern followed with my next girlfriend, and the one after that.

Jade isn’t even my girlfriend, but spending all this time with her, sharing the intimacy of a stage with her as we slip in and out of characters who are in love . . . was it inevitable that I’d develop feelings for her? Maybe. Maybe not. But once the feelings existed, desire was right around the corner, and I’m in its chokehold now, my fingertips skating against the skin of her waist. She shivers at the touch and presses her nails into my forearm hard enough that I’ll find little crescent indents later tonight. I want more, and it’s clear she’s as hungry for this as I am, but I break our kiss anyway and press my forehead against hers.

We’re both panting as if we’ve run up seven flights of stairs. I tuck a strand of hair that’s fallen into her face behind her ear.

“I won’t keep you,” I say. “I just . . . I had to.” I step back and shoulder my backpack. “I’ll see you at the party?”

Jade’s lips are parted, and even in the low light I can see they’re a little swollen and glistening still from our kiss. I seem to have knocked her speechless, which I’m guessing would be a first. I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips.

Without a word, Jade picks up her bag and walks up the stairs, leaving me in the dark with my feelings.