The second week, Brian wasn't at Tuesday's rehearsal. We had blocked the entire third act and the actors were all supposed to be 'off book' by then, at least for act three. So I would be up on stage with two responsibilities: to cue them if they dropped a line or part of the blocking and to read Brian's lines and move as his character was supposed to move.
Tom had meticulously plotted each and every little move the actors were to make. There's nothing more boring than a play that's poorly blocked. It makes the audience feel awkward and restless. Even though people in real life tend to stay in one spot for long periods of time, on stage that won't work. So the director has to put the play into action for it to succeed.
We were about half way into the act and it was going quite well. I had to prompt Cole on a couple of lines, but nothing major.
Until Tristan moved stage right when he was supposed to go stage left.
"Tristan," I said, "you're supposed to move toward the bar on that line."
"No, I'm not. I'm supposed to move toward the window."
I looked in the margin of my already well-worn script where I had written "Coach to s.l." Tristan was looking at me with a challenge in his eyes. I wanted to shrink away, but I knew I was right. If he went in the opposite direction he was going to unbalance the whole tableau.
"Really, you need to be just downstage of the bar at the end of that line." He just stood there, glaring at me.
"I think I know where I'm supposed to be."
"Well, not really…" I looked out into the theater where Tom was sitting in the dark.
Tom's voice came out of the darkness."Stage left, Coach."
Tristan glared at me as if I had betrayed him by being correct and moved downstage of the bar.
Later on, it happened again. "Tristan…that's where you're supposed to sit on the couch."
This time he just muttered "fucking hell" under his breath and plopped on the set of chairs that was substituting for the sofa to come. The chair squealed on the stage as his weight pushed it a few inches back. He was practically growling as he maneuvered it back into line with the others.
Later, there was a point where Tristan had to grab Brian's face. The coach was incensed that Brian's character had insulted the old team's integrity and the line was: "I wouldn't walk across the street to piss on you if you were on fire."
When he approached me, he did an impressive job of delivering that line as he took my face into his hands. His eyes seared into mine and the heat from his hands traveled all the way from my cheeks to places far below. He seemed to hold my head for a fraction longer than necessary and hissed out the words with believable venom.
I stuttered out Brian's next line. "It would be best to let me burn" and gratefully followed my blocking by turning away from Tristan and walking to the 'bar'. As I mimed pouring myself a drink, I very much wished I had the real thing. It was meant to be a powerful moment in the play. It certainly had that effect on me.
Of all the nights to pick to hang around after rehearsal, Tristan picked this one. He came back to the green room as I was straightening up. My back was to the door, but I felt his presence even before he spoke.
"Raina?" My name; his voice. I took a deep breath before I turned around.
"Yes?" I hoped that the effort to infuse that little word with nonchalance worked.
"Let's go have a drink." Not will you have a drink with me? or how about joining me for a drink? He had an odd way of putting things. It was almost a command. Like a rebellious kid, I wanted to say no on principle. But the stronger part of me, the woman in me, wanted very much to have the man to myself for a few moments.
"Sure," I said. "I just need to finish up here." Tristan leaned against the doorframe and wordlessly watched me put the mugs back in their place and rinse the coffee pot. My hands trembled a little as I held the jug under the running water knowing that he was standing there, his eyes fixed to my back. I was acutely aware of the intense physical attraction I had felt for him from the first moment he stepped up on the stage. His powerful portrayal of the coach and his personal magnetism had only heightened my curiosity and, I admit, my desire to get closer to him.
When I had locked theater, Tristan offered me his arm. "My chariot awaits," he smiled. Other than my beat up old Jeep in the parking lot, the only other car was an exotic looking black convertible, the top already down. It was a subdued version of the Batmobile.
"How about I follow you? We can go to Newly's. It's right near my house."
"I think not." When I didn't immediately loop my hand through the crook of his arm, he put his hand at the small of my back and steered me toward the lot. The firm touch of his hand just above my ass pretty much pushed all other thoughts somewhere far away. He opened the passenger side and I got in automatically--it was expected. "Newly's is for going out with the guys. I have a much better place in mind to take a lady."
His emphasis on 'lady' gave it a special ring. I looked down at my jeans and wished I had chosen something else to wear. He saw me looking down at my pants and read my mind.
"Not to worry. There's no dress code where we're going." The engine roared to life with a sound that was the mechanical equivalent to Tristan's own deep, throaty bass. The leather bucket seat enveloped my five foot four frame in pure luxury. There wasn't a piece of furniture in my family's house that was that comfortable.
I had to ask. I didn't care if I sounded like some unschooled rube. I didn't place the crown shaped emblem prominent on the grill of the car I was about to be whisked away in. Given that it would probably be the first and last time I'd ever ride in such a beast, I needed a name for it.
"Maserati," he answered me. "It's a GT--Gran Turrismo."
"It's a beautiful car," I told him. "Very classy without being splashy." Just like you. The car was perfect for him.
"Thank you, I'm glad you like it. It just wasn't practical for the city. A car like this is like a thoroughbred horse. You can't just keep it in a barn all the time." He reached over and stroked my thigh with the back of his hand. "Sit back and enjoy the ride. It's a beautiful night." What was beautiful was the way his touch made me feel. The stars seemed to shine brighter, the moon glow was a caress.
We had ridden for about fifteen minutes when Tristan pulled off the main road and drove up a tree lined approach that ended at a huge stone mansion that looked very much like a French chateau I had seen on my one summer abroad. I assumed it was one of the many up-scale inns that dot the Berkshires. But it didn't look too busy.