Chapter Eight

Ryan

Living at Alex’s is not working out for me. I have half of my stuff in boxes in his room, while the other half I’ve been permitted to keep in my parents garage for a week until they are put outside for the trashmen to collect if I don’t move them.

Alex’s flatmate, Troy, is an angry software engineer who keeps unusual reptiles in giant cages, stirs protein powder into every single one of the eight coffees he seems to drink a day and shits with the door open, just to fuck with everyone else. His other flatmate, Peter, hardly ever comes out of his room and could quite legitimately be a serial killer for all I know.

I can’t take much more of this, but then again, I don’t have anywhere else to go. I can’t move back in with Mom and Dad, partly because my room has been turned into a micro gym and mostly because I can’t cope with Dad’s lengthy lectures on finding a real job that pays me enough to rent my own place again, and I don’t have any other friends in the city I can ask for help from, except, perhaps, Sophia.

Until I work out what to do about the inheritance situation, I’m stuck exactly where I am, Troy breathing down my sofa-crooked neck, a light year away from the theatre, every single one of my possessions in the wrong place at the wrong time, and a genuine sensation that I have a simple way out of all of this, only if I take Sophia to the side and present her with what is quickly becoming a well-formulated plan.

It’s only marriage, after all. What is the worst thing that she can say? If I don’t ask her, things will just go on as normal. We’ll finish the play, she’ll go back home and I’ll have the memory of twenty or so kisses to keep me company while I curl up on Alex’s back breaking sofa and cry myself to sleep.

If I ask her and she agrees, those kisses have every chance of repeating themselves. If I don’t, I’m not going to lose anything I wouldn’t have got in the meantime.

The problem is, if it’s not Sophia, I don’t want it to be anyone else, because the last thing I want to do is ruin my chance with her, on the off chance she manages to get her visa sorted and suddenly has the right to stay here again.

I can’t expect her to be interested in me if I’m not only already married, I’m sharing a bed and an apartment with my brand spanking new wife, fake or not.

It’s opening night tonight, the night I get to kiss Sophia for real, and I can’t stop my hands from trembling. Everyone else is on edge too, which is perfectly understandable. Sophia said she nearly puked this morning, Marshall has smoked a packet of cigarettes and drunk a gallon of coffee since I’ve been here, and there seems to be a problem with one of the lighting set-ups we’ve had to call someone in to fix. We go live in less than an hour, and the only person that doesn’t seem at all fazed about what’s going on is Brad, I expect because he knows he won’t be taking part.

We were here rehearsing until two am last night, and then came back this morning for a quick last minute Marshall style meeting, which was essentially a motivational speech consisting of a number of poorly veiled threats to our personal safety in the event we fuck up his master work.

We’ve had the rest of the day off until now, and I’ve spent most of that trying to work out what I’m going to do after this is all over. I’ve got a few other gigs lined up, but nothing long term, and nothing at all that looks like it might bring a decent amount of money in. In short, my time is running out. Either I get another job that’s not acting, I move back in with Mom and Dad, which is likely to be all kinds of worse, or I ask Sophia to marry me.

What could possibly go wrong?

I leave Marshall, the electricians, the prop guys, the stagehands and anyone else who’s stupid enough to hang around trying to solve one of several problems on stage while I escape the chaos and head backstage in search of Sophia. I find her in one of the dressing rooms going through some of her lines, and lean against the frame of the door watching her for a while before I interrupt.

“I think Marshall’s going to have a heart attack”, I say, when she’s done. “The lights still aren’t fixed.”

“Things always go wrong on opening night”, she says, “that’s just the way this industry works. No matter how much you rehearse, you can never predict what’s going to happen.”

“Tell that to Marshall”, I suggest, taking a seat alongside her. “Are you nervous?” I ask.

Sophia holds out slightly trembling hands. “It’s not everyday that I get married and have a baby”, she says.

“It will be for the next few weeks”, I remind her.

“The first night is always the worst”, she says. “I’ll be fine when it’s over.”

I smile and hold out my own trembling hands. “I blame the coffee”, I say.

“Have you decided what you are going to do after it’s all over?” she asks me.

“Find somewhere to live”, I say. “That’s my number one priority. After that, I don’t know. I’ve got a few castings but nothing concrete. I guess I’ll have to wait and see if Marshall survives this one and wants to put on something else.”

“Another Marshall master work, I don’t think I could take it.”

“William and Elouise, the later years”, I suggest, more than aware of the subtle implication of the opportunity for us to both work together again.

“When we’ve grown tired of each other and do nothing but argue”, Sophia says cynically.

“If it’s based more accurately on Marshall’s real life, then yes I expect that’s exactly what it’ll be like.”

“Doesn’t sound all that far from the truth to me”, Sophia says.

“That’s just because you’ve had back experiences in the past”, I say. “And you’re still sore about Jack.”

“Don’t remind me”, Sophia says, rolling her eyes. “At least I get a happy ending in this one, even if it takes us a while to get there.”

“Real life isn’t always like that”, I say. “Not all men are cheaters.”

“I wish I could find one that isn’t”, Sophia says. “I’m sick of the bad ones.”

“You’ve just had bad luck”, I say, careful not to give away too much. “I’m sure the right guy will come along soon enough.”

“You know what will happen?” Sophia says. “The right guy will come along the day before my visa runs out. That’s exactly the kind of bad luck that I’ve got.”

“Then you’ll just have to marry him”, I say, a huge smile on my face.

Sophia laughs. “I can’t tell you I haven’t thought about it”, she says. “There are so many more opportunities here than there are for me back home, regardless of how much my parents want me to return. If it’s a choice between New York and a tiny village on the outskirts of Toulouse, I know which I would prefer.”

“William and Elouise the later years”, I suggest again. “It could be your defining moment.”

“Maybe not that”, Sophia says, “unless Marshall turns it into a fantasy with a very happy ending, of course.”

“I thought you like the hitting scenes”, I say.

Sophia smiles. “I don’t think I’m the only one.”

I let my mouth drop open in mock shock. “I hope you haven’t been practising by the way, I don’t think my neck is strong enough right now.”

“I thought that was something you were incorporating into the character”, Sophia jokes, “You know, some kind of quirky tick to make William more memorable.”

“No”, I say. “I’m not that creative. That’s just four hours sleep in a position I don’t think my body has ever found itself in before. I feel like I’ve slept in the top drawer of a filing cabinet.”

Sophia laughs. “I’m serious”, I say. “I might have to ask Marshall to write in a massage scene.”

“I don’t think that would fit my character”, Sophia jokes.

“I don’t know”, I say. “It might be just what your character is missing. We get married, we kiss, I carry you up to the bedroom and you give me a sexy four hour massage.”

“And what’s in it for me?” Sophia asks.

“You mean besides the heartwarming pleasure of doing something altruistic for your husband?”

“Besides that, of course”, Sophia says.

“A round of applause from the audience.”

“Go on.”

“The chance of an award.”

“And—”, Sophia says.

“A fuzzy feeling inside.”

Sophia laughs. “Whenever you want that sofa—”, she says again.

“Don’t joke, things are getting desperate at Alex’s”, I say.

“I’m not joking”, Sophia says. “I can’t have my future husband getting a permanent spinal injury, can I? And besides which, I could do with some company at home, Alice is out all the time with her new boyfriend.”

I take a moment to reflect on this. Sophia and me in her house alone. No Troy, no tiny sofa, no possibility that Peter might cut my throat in the night, just the sexiest girl in the entire world keeping me company.

“You’ll get sick of seeing me”, I say, aware I should put up at least some resistance to this idea.  

“That depends on what you’re like to live with.”

“I’m nothing like William”, I say. “I’m way cleaner, much more respectful, a lot more fun.”

“And I’m nothing like Elouise”, Sophia says with a smile. “I throw way less crockery at home.”

“I suppose we could practise our lines”, I say.

“Work on our characters”, Sophia adds.

“Bitch about Marshall”, I say.

“Share contacts”, Sophia says.

“You could help me with castings.”

“And you with mine.”

“Alex is terrible, after all.”

“And Alice doesn’t take it at all seriously.”

I pause for thought.

“Would I have to eat your cookies?” I ask. “It could be a dealbreaker.”

Sophia laughs. “Every single variety”, she says. “Especially the experimental ones.”

“Those happen to be my favorite ones”, I say.

“I’ll make sure I bake you twice as many in that case.”

“Are you for real about this?” I ask. “You know, about the sofa, not about the cookies. It would only be temporary, until I find something else.”

“It’s yours whenever you want to stay, Ryan”, she says, her hand on my arm sending a flash of fire through my belly. “For as long as you like. The apartment’s pretty small but the couch is awesome, and it’s much closer to here than where you are staying at the moment.”

“Toronto is closer to here than where I’m staying at the moment”, I say.

“Then think about it”, Sophia says. “It’ll be fun spending some time together when we’re not in character. One of the things I hate about acting is that you spend some much time in role, you don’t always get to know what your co-stars are really like.”

“There might be a reason for that”, I say. “You know what they say about actors.”

Sophia laughs and then pretends to tick. “I promise you, I’m not a serial killer.”

“Thank you”, I say. “I appreciate it.”

Sophia shrugs. “Don’t mention it”, she says. “Just let me know when you want to stay over. Alice might even let you stay in her bed if she’s not using it.”

“I think the sofa will be fine for now”, I say. “I don’t want Alice to think I’m moving in permanently.”

“Sure”, Sophia says. “Whatever works for you.”

“I better get ready”, I say. “Before Marshall sees I’m not even dressed yet and really does have a heart attack.”

“Good idea”, Sophia says. “A dead director on opening night is likely to curse the whole production. I’ll leave you to it, I think. I feel like taking a walk around before we begin just to clear my head.”

“Good luck with that”, I say. “Try and stay out of Marshall’s way.”

Sophia gathers herself together and takes a deep breath. “See you out there, William. Don’t be late this time.”

I smile and raise my eyebrows. “Not if I see you first, Elouise.”