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From: Strickland83 <strickland83@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Tears Reflected
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Date: Wed, 27 Jul 2005 15:10:08 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Tears Reflected - ASSM.txt" begin>

Tears Reflected By Strickland83
Author: Strickland83
Title: Tears Reflected

   She was a very good actress.  She was good enough to turn professional.
Keywords: No Sex
Revision: 1.0

   Web Site: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/strickland83/www

   This story is Copyright (C) 2005 by Strickland83.  All rights reserved.

   Tears Reflected By Strickland83

   I heard about the play from a friend.  I had done some acting before,
but I was no professional.  This was amateur theater.  You didn't get paid.
Everyone volunteered.  It was a lot of fun, though, and you sometimes even
got to work with people who really had talent.

   I drove downtown to the theater one evening.  It was a small theater, an
old bank building, I think.  It was square and built of tan brick, with
white globe lights on either side of the entrance.  The sign for the
production hadn't been painted yet.  When it was ready, the sign would
stand on the front porch.

   The front porch lights were on and the door was open, but I didn't see
anyone else around.  Inside the theater, stairs led to the left and right
into the theater.  I could hear people talking; there were people already
here.

   The director and producer were looking over papers in seats near the
front of the theater.  The rest of the occupied seats were taken up by
people like me, hoping to get a part.  I was given a form to fill out by
the producer.  I took a seat and looked over the form.  It was the usual
stuff: name, address, list of experience, whether I could commit to the
necessary time, what part I was trying out for.  I filled out the form and
returned it.
It was after I handed in the form and picked up a copy of the script
that I finally looked around at the other people there.  They were doing
the same thing I was doing - waiting nervously for a chance to perform. 
Then we would all go home and wait for the phone call.  Waiting for that
phone call was the worst part.  Even if you didn't get the part, it felt

good to finally get the call and get the waiting over with.

   I looked over the others.  I didn't know anyone there.  If I got a part,
I'd get to know some of these people really well.  We'd practically live
together for two months, spending all of our free time at the theater
either in rehearsal or performances.  Everybody was a range of ages, some
younger than me and some older.  I wondered who would get picked and who
would get rejected.  I wanted to be a part of this.  I really wanted to get
a part.

   The theater was small, intimate even.  The stage extended right up to
the first row of seats.  The audience sitting in the first row had their
feet on the stage.  Dark curtains hung over the building's original
windows. The only decorations were the signs from past productions which
were hung on the walls.

   The director stood up and walked to the stage.  Facing us, he introduced
himself and the producer.  He explained about the play and what he expected
from the cast.  I had heard this before but I tried to pay attention, tried
to judge what working for him would be like.

   Next was what we had come for.  We were called to the stage in groups of
two or three to read parts.  As I waited patiently for my turn, I enjoyed
watching the others perform.  I enjoyed theater, whether performing or
attending a performance.  In time, my name was called.

   The main reason was to see how we handled ourselves on the stage, what
we looked like, what we sounded like.  We didn't necessarily read the parts
we hoped to get.  In my case, I was known for playing foreigners and my
reputation must have preceded me.  I was asked to read the part of the
Italian.  I went for broke and did my best accent.  I didn't just speak the
part; I became the character.  My hand motions, my movements, my facial
expressions all matched the character I was portraying.  I didn't play the
part.  I was the character.

   When I finished and walked off stage, I noticed that everyone was
watching me.  I had really made an impression.  I hoped I had made as much
of an impression on the director.

   I was called later to read again.  I took it as a good sign that I was
asked to read the same part.  When it was all over, we were told to expect
calls later that night and then we were dismissed.  It was late so
everybody left pretty quickly.  There were definitely a few women I'd like
to get to know.  I hoped I'd get to work with some of them.

   I had given up waiting and was getting ready for bed when my phone rang.
My heart leapt when I recognized the booming voice on the line as belonging
to the director.  He was giving me the part of the foreigner.  I was
ecstatic.  The rest of the call was about the rehearsal schedule.

   Two nights later, I was back at the theater.  I filed in and took a
seat, looking around to see who else had made the cut.  I was delighted to
see that the young brunette (one of the women who had caught my eye at
tryouts) was also there.  Before I had a chance to talk to her, the
director, George, walked onto the stage.

   First, George called each of us by name, telling the others which part
each of us was playing.  Next scripts were handed out and we sat in chairs
on the stage.  We read through the play, from beginning to end, just to get
familiar with it.  I was the only one really in character at that point. 
The others were just reading.  This was normal for an initial read, for
most of the actors.  When I did a foreign accent, I found it worked best to
always think of the play in those terms.  I was always in character when I
was at the theater.

   It took the entire evening to read through the play once.  When we had
finished, it was time to go home.  Walking out, I chatted with my fellow
performers.  I learned that the brunette who had caught my eye was named
Jill.  I didn't get to learn much more than that the first night.

   We started blocking out the play the next night, actually standing on
the part of the stage where the scene would be acted out.  Sets weren't
constructed yet so we used our imagination.  The play was set in an English
manor house which had been converted into a small hotel.  Jill was the
innkeeper's wife and my character was somewhat of a scoundrel.

   Jill and I quickly became friends, closer than either of us was to the
other performers.  That is not to say that we weren't all friends.  There
was just something more between Jill and me, something magical.  Rehearsals
continued and we were spending almost all of our free time together at the
theater.  Between scenes, I learned that Jill was trying to get enough
experience to pursue theater professionally.  She had graduated from a
community college in theater a few years before and she was still hoping
for her big break.  Sometimes after rehearsal, we would go out to a bar
near the theater or find a restaurant still open late for a snack.  Many
times, those outings ending up with Jill and I talking late into the night.

   I found I was looking forward to seeing Jill more than I was looking
forward to the theater work.  Unfortunately, Jill's passion was the
theater. She was sweet and friendly, but it was apparent her one true love
was acting.  When she performed, she put everything she had into it.  The
emotions she conveyed with her voice, her expressions, even the way she
carried herself, spoke volumes.  I found myself watching her not just
because I was so infatuated with her but also because of how well she
played her part.  I was fooling around with acting.  It was a hobby for me.
For Jill, it really was a passion.  She was good - good enough to turn
professional.

   As our rehearsals progressed and opening night approached (though still
a few weeks away), the sets came together.  What had been a big grey space
was turning into a living room, complete with furniture, a fireplace and a
bay window.  Doors led off down hallways to what was supposed to be other
rooms but which were actually just passageways to the backstage area.

   What the audience sees of the stage always looks grand, like this is
some great and elegant palace.  What the audience doesn't see is the
backstage area which is something quite ...  less.  It is small, cramped,
usually littered with old props or furniture and not always well lighted.
The set gets built and the actors have to deal with whatever is left. 
Especially in small theaters like this one, a lot of the backstage area is
improvised.  There was a kind of sitting area with old discarded furniture.
A large mirror, too large for the room, leaned against a wall.  It was a
good place to practice because the mirror was large enough that you could
see yourself as the audience would see you.  I loved to sit on one of the
old sofas and watch Jill practicing while we were both offstage.  When she
finished, she often caught me watching her and gifted me with an impish
smile.  When she was practicing, though, she was serious.  It was
fascinating to watch her perfect her character.

   When the set was finished being built, it took up a lot more space than
usual.  Because the backstage area was already so small, there wasn't room
left downstairs for the usual dressing rooms.  A compromise was worked out,
though.  The upstairs area of the stage wasn't being used for this play so
makeshift dressing rooms were set up.  Perhaps `dressing rooms' is not the
best term.  You are probably imagining well-lit counters with chairs and
mirrors, a tiled floor and lots of assistants to help the performers get
ready.  Right.

   What we had were two booths, really - one for the men and another for
the women.  The walls were plywood with black curtains for doors.  Nails on
the bare studs served as racks for hanging clothes and accessories.  Two
bare light bulbs in each booth rounded out the features.  When we were
getting ready before a performance, we would all be talking animatedly. 
Cries of, "Where's the murder weapon?" or "Has anyone seen my dustpan?" or
even "Cigar!  I need my cigar!" were so common that we hardly noticed them
anymore.  Changing costumes during the production was different, though. 
Because we were separated from the audience by only a thin wall, we had to
be very quiet.  It was probably fortunate that rarely were more than two or
three changing at one time during the show.  It gave us more room to move
and less opportunity to make noise.

   The play opened to great reviews as we began our two week run.  It was
on maybe the third night's performance that I made a touching discovery.  I
would have to wait in one of the hallways for my cue to come onstage.  Jill
was having an argument with the actor playing her husband.  I was always
impressed by how she could sound so upset when she was playing that scene.
It even sounded like she was crying.  One night, I slipped in there to
await my cue to walk in on the two of them when I discovered I could slip
into a tiny alcove behind what was the fireplace.  It was the perfect place
because the audience couldn't see me, or even my shadow, as I stood there.
Looking across the passageway, I discovered that Jill's face was perfectly
reflected in the glass of a portrait that hung in the hall.  I could stand
there and watch her as she acted.  I had never seen her do this scene
before because I was always backstage until the argument was over.

   The two of them got to the most heated point of their argument.  I had
heard them act it out so many times that I knew their lines, their heated
words, by heart.  I watched as Jill reached the part where she always
sounded like she was crying.  There, reflected in the glass, I could see
that there were actually tears running out of her eyes.  She wasn't acting,
she wasn't disguising her voice.  She was really making herself cry.  I
knew I was in the presence of a great actress.  She did it so well that I
was almost brought to the point of tears in sympathy for her suffering.  I
was so struck that I almost missed my cue.

   I came onstage and played my part, but I found myself looking at Jill
with wonder, never having seen her in this way before.  After this scene,
she and I had to do a costume change while all the other performers were
onstage.  It was always just the two of us backstage at that time.  The
first time or two, we gave each other a quick smile before she went behind
her curtain and I went behind mine.  Separated by only a thin sheet of
plywood, I couldn't help noticing the sounds as she changed her clothes.  I
found myself imagining what she looked like as she undressed.  I wondered
if she ever thought about me that way.

   We sometimes exchanged a comment or two as we changed.  It was strange
to be changing my clothes and talking in whispers to Jill at the same time.
I voiced that comment one night and she told me just to enjoy the
experience.  We both chuckled as quietly as we could.

   This continued the run of the play.  One night, the two of us were
almost finished changing when I heard Jill softly call out, "Oh, shit."

   "What's the matter?" I asked through the sheet of plywood.

   "My zipper is stuck.  I can't get it up."

   I thought about the situation.  We had to get back onstage, there was
just the two of us up there.  It would take too long to get a stagehand
from downstairs to help her.  There was just one alternative.

   "Do you want me to help?" I asked.  There was a pause as she worked
through the same scenarios in her mind.

   "I think so.  I'm not fully dressed, though."

   "I don't mind," I whispered.

   The smile on my face must have carried through the whisper because
Jill's response was, "I'm sure you don't." Then I heard her sigh.  "Come on
over," she said.

   My heart beating wildly, I stepped out of my curtain and through hers.
There was my lovely friend, her dress at her waist.  She looked at me and
smiled helplessly.  "Enjoy the view, just get my zipper unstuck.  We're
running out of time."

   I went right to work but it took time.  Eventually, I worked the zipper
free of the bunched up material.  She finished dressing quickly while I
stood there.  I guess she realized there wasn't much point in my stepping
outside.  I had already seen as much as I was going to see.  She looked
magnificent in that low cut bra.  When she was ready, she looked right into
my eyes.

   "Let's keep this our little secret, OK?  No one else has to know we did
this."

   "It will be our secret," I agreed.  Then I added in a very low whisper,
"And in my fantasies."

   Jill shocked me with what she did next.  She leaned forward.  As she
brushed my cheek with a kiss, she whispered, "And in mine." Then we
scurried downstairs, arriving just as we heard her cue.  I followed minutes
later, my breathing having calmed down from the dash down the stairs.

   It was hard not to smile when I looked at her onstage.  I had to really
concentrate on my lines because the image of her clad in only her bra kept
leaping into my mind.  It looked like she was trying not to think of
something as well.

   After that night's performance, the entire cast was changing back into
our street clothes.  I was one of the last ones to leave the dressing room.
As I was walking out, I heard Jill call my name.  I turned around to see
that we were the last two there.

   "Want to get a drink before you go home?" she asked.

   "I'd really like that," I said, even though I had just been thinking
about going home to sleep because we both had work the next day.

   As we were walking out of the theater, one of the other actors asked
where we were going.

   "We're going across the street to get a drink," Jill told him.  I was
hoping he wouldn't want to come along but I did my very best to not show my
disappointment when he asked if we minded him joining us.  Jill looked at
me when she said, "No, not at all." I could see the apology in her eyes.  I
gave a slight nod, enough for her to see but not enough to call attention.

   Greg, the other actor, was talking animatedly about the night's
performance.  It was apparent that Jill and I wanted to talk about what had
happened in the dressing room but that would have to wait.  We managed to
have a good time anyway, though our thoughts were elsewhere.

   After that one drink, Jill and I left.  Greg decided to stay, which
delighted me because I would have a chance to talk to Jill alone.  On the
walk across the street and to the back of the theater where we had parked,
we did talk.

   "Thanks for helping with my costume," Jill told me when we were away
from the bar.  The street was just about deserted, the traffic lights
acting as lonely sentinels as they went through their automated paces.  I
turned to face Jill as we crossed the street.  Her face was lit in green,
then amber and finally red as the light changed for the nonexistent
traffic.

   "Thank you for letting me.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy seeing
you like that."

   "I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it, either," Jill added.  Her
facial expression, colored by the traffic signal, was still apparent.

   We were now walking down the alley between the theater and the store
next door.  I stopped and pulled her to face me.  "I've thought about you
every time we were changing up there, alone." Jill just smiled.  I took a
deep breath as I decided to go with the urge.  "Jill, are you seeing anyone
right now?"

   Jill's expression fell.  She looked down at the gravel below our feet.
When she spoke, it was so quiet that I could barely make out the words.  "I
don't have time right now for a relationship."

   My heart fell like her face did.  I tried to reason out what she really
meant.  Was it me?  She must have sensed my concern because she quickly
explained.

   "My first love is the theater.  I want this so badly I can taste it.  If
I could, I'd do this twenty-four seven." She paused and breathed in loudly.
"I keep hoping to get discovered, to get a chance to go professional."

   I was looking at her.  When she said the last sentence, she looked up at
me, our eyes locked together.  The emotion in her voice spoke of the love,
the passion, the desire she held for acting.  I could feel in my body what
she must feel, the unfulfilled desire.  I took her in my arms.

   "You're good.  You're really good.  The rest of us are just playing
along.  I've watched you.  You can do this.  You will get your shot -
someday."

   I was holding her in my arms.  She looked at me with a smile.  It was a
pained smile, but I could see that she understood.  She understood that I
knew what she was feeling.  I wanted to kiss her at that moment, but I
wasn't sure she wanted it.  Instead, I asked the question that had been
burning inside me ever since I first saw her tears reflected in the
picture.

   "Jill, when you cry onstage, you really cry.  You're so good at it. 
You're not acting.  You are crying.  I've seen you.  What do you think of
to make yourself do that?"

   Jill looked away to the back corner of the building, in the direction
where our cars were parked.  "I have to go.  It's late and I have to be at
work early tomorrow morning." She pulled her shoulders free of my hands.

   "Jill, what is it?"

   "I had a nice time, Richard," she said as she started to walk away.

   "Jill, what makes you so sad?" I called out to her.

   She didn't answer.  The only sound was the crunch of the gravel under
her feet.  I walked after her.  I caught up to her as she got to her car.
She turned to me.

   "Please don't ask me that, Richard.  Ask anything but that."

   I didn't know what I had done to upset her.  I didn't want to hurt her.

   "Did someone hurt you," I asked Jill, suddenly feeling protective.

   Jill unlocked the car door, ignoring my question.  "Goodnight, Richard.
See you tomorrow night." She opened the door and got in.  The engine
started as I stood there, realizing how she had avoided my question.  The
implication hung there as she backed out and drove away, leaving me
standing there.  Her taillights illuminated the ground in a red glow.  Then
she rounded the building and I was alone in the darkness and silence.

   I walked to my car, the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes the only
sound. I kept running through Jill's words in my head, wondering what her
mystery was.  We seemed to be getting so close, but then I pushed her away.
By caring?  That didn't make any sense.  When I finally got into bed that
night, I lay awake for a long time, thinking about Jill.

   I walked into the theater the next night with some trepidation.  I
wondered how things would be between Jill and me.  I needn't have worried.
She greeted me with the warmest smile ever.  I hadn't driven her away after
all.  I still couldn't make sense of what had happened, though.

   When the time came for us to change costumes, we walked upstairs
together.  At the doors of our dressing rooms, Jill turned to me.

   "Help me with my zipper?" she asked with a sly smile.

   "Are you sure?"

   "Don't you want to?" Her smile never dimmed when she said that.  My
heart pounded and I could feel myself starting to sweat.

   I changed quickly and I entered her dressing room.  She was just
starting to pull up the top of the dress, facing the door.  The modest
thing to do would have been to do that with her back to the door.  Could
she have done it that way for my benefit?  Jill looked me in the eyes,
smiling as she watched me looking at her body.

   She let me have a good look before turning around so I could work the
zipper.  As I pulled the zipper up, gently and carefully, she whispered,
"This is better than taking a chance of getting it stuck again."

   "Oh, yes," I whispered back.  "Much better."

   Jill surprised me.  She turned around and gave me a quick kiss.  I knew
it couldn't be much of a kiss without risking smearing our stage makeup. 
The touch of her lips on mine made my heart pound and my toes tingle.  I
was still trying to catch my breath when she took my hand and whispered,
"Was it hard?"

   The double meaning her words implied shocked me.  Again, I didn't have
time to recover when she started pulling on my hand.

   "It's almost time for our cues," she said in explanation as she led me
to the stairs.  The soft warm touch of her hand served to reinforce my
memory of the touch of her lips.

   Night after night, the ritual was repeated.  I looked forward to the
kisses, but hoped for more.  We had a few chances to get together after the
performances, and even spent one magical night together.  I finally got to
hold her and love her like I had been doing in my fantasies, in my dreams.
In the morning, we went our separate ways to our regular jobs.  The next
night was our closing performance.

   When Jill got to the theater that night, she found a bouquet of roses
waiting for her.  I had picked them up from the florist and slipped into
the theater earlier to leave them backstage for her.  The card read simply,
"To my favorite actress." Jill found me in a quiet corner backstage and
thanked me for the flowers.

   "How did you know they were from me?" I asked her.  Even if she was
still uncertain, I'm sure the smile I couldn't conceal confirmed her
suspicions.  She just smirked.

   There was a rumor going around backstage that a talent scout was in the
audience.  This wasn't something new.  I'd heard it before, during other
plays.  Jill, however, seemed excited.  Her performance that night was
beyond stellar.  She was beyond giving it her all.  When I watched her
tears reflected in the glass that night, I could clearly see the intensity
was more than her usual effort.  I had to wipe tears from my own eyes
before I went onstage.

   Ordinarily, I might have been in awe by her performance.  That night, I
didn't let myself falter.  Just in case the rumor was true, I knew I had to
do my best so Jill would look her best.  I knew how badly she wanted a
break.  If I could do anything to better her chances, I'd do it.  I'd do
anything to give Jill what she really wanted.

   After our final curtain call, we invited the audience up onto the stage
to celebrate with us.  The male lead opened the first bottle of champagne,
as tradition dictated in the little theater.  The stage manager was busily
handing out those plastic champagne glasses to all of us.  Once all our
glasses were filled, the cast and crew were led by the director in a toast
to the successful completion of our run.  Glasses of champagne were being
distributed to the members of the audience who had stayed to share in the
celebration.

   I turned to look for Jill.  She was speaking to a man in a dark suit.  I
remembered seeing him sitting somewhere in the first few rows during the
show.  I figured that he was someone who knew Jill because they were deeply
engaged in conversation.  Whatever he was saying to Jill had her very
interested.  I didn't want to interrupt so I instead greeted the members of
the audience and my fellow members of the cast and crew.

   It was always a happy time - happy and sad.  We were glad to be finished
with the play.  At the same time, the joy was bittersweet.  In the weeks of
rehearsal and performing, we had become very close.  We were a family,
united in the production.  Our family would be dissolved later that night,
as the cast party came to an end.  We would probably all never be together
like this again.  We had come to the end of our special time.

   Someone was going around with a stack of posters from the play and
asking everyone to sign them.  I took my turn with one of the permanent
markers and wrote something profound, repeating it on each.  I was told
that we would each receive a signed poster later at the party.

   I looked one last time for Jill but I didn't see her.  I asked around,
noticing for the first time that people had begun filtering up to the
dressing rooms to change into their street clothes.

   "I think I saw her going to change," someone told me.

   I walked backstage and climbed the darkly lit stairs to where our
dressing rooms were situated.  I met Jill on the stairs, rushing down,
dressed in a polo shirt and jeans.  Her face was brightly lit by a smile.
She was very happy about something.  When her eyes met mine, her smile was
infectious.  I couldn't help joining in, and not just because I was so
happy to see her.

   With the play over, I had hopes that we would have more time for each
other.  I knew she would probably try out for the next play, but tryouts
were a few months away.  I saw a good possibility for happy times ahead for
the two of us.

   Jill was so excited that she could barely contain herself.

   "Richard!  I got the most amazing news tonight!"

   I positively grinned at the sound of excitement in her voice.  I waited
to hear the news, but I was to be disappointed as she continued,
breathlessly.

   "I have to go get more details.  I'll tell you all about it at the
party. See you there."

   And, she was gone.  I listened to her tennis shoes on the last few steps
at the bottom.  I knew something had made her very happy and I hoped to
help her celebrate later that night.  I just didn't know what had happened.
Well, that could wait.  I climbed the rest of the stairs and entered the
dressing room.  I was one of the last ones to change.  Calls of, "See you
at the cast party," were heard as one by one the others finished changing
and left.

   Before long, I was the last one there.  As I finished hung up my costume
for the last time and dressed in my street clothes, I thought about those
nights when Jill and I changed together.  I smiled as I remembered the
night her zipper had gotten stuck.  It was a lucky break for me, for both
of us.

   The lights were starting to go out in the theater as I left.  Jill was
long gone but I knew I'd see her soon.  I hoped we'd be leaving the party
together.

   The party was being held at the director's home, a nice house downtown.
It was about a ten minute drive from the theater.  I had to park a block
away because I was among the last to arrive.  I looked for Jill's car as I
walked to the door but I didn't see it.  Approaching the door, I could hear
the sounds of the party drifting towards me.  Music and laughter, sprinkled
with tidbits of conversation.  It was a happy time.  The tears would come
later when people started leaving.  These parties often went on late into
the night.  Everybody was always reluctant to leave, to leave the family.

   I opened the door, not bothering to knock.  It was like jumping into a
pool.  There was a transition, like entering the water.  You just had to
jump in, breaking into the bubble of hospitality.  Once the barrier was
breached, it was warm and happy and comfortable inside.  I was quickly
talking and drinking and eating along with everyone else.  With one
exception.

   "Where's Jill?" I asked.  At first, no one knew.

   Then, the producer had a partial answer to my question.  Her face lit up
as she told me, "Jill had to meet with someone on the way here.  I suspect
she will have big news to tell when she gets here.  She's coming, don't
worry." Then, in a stage whisper directed to me, "And I think she might
need your help celebrating...  later."

   It was no secret by then that Jill and I had something going on.  A wave
of excitement passed through me as I thought what "celebrating...  later"
could mean.

   Jill still hadn't arrived when it was time for the more formal slice of
the party.  The director spoke first, thanking us for our hard work and
congratulating us on such a fine performance.  The producer added her
compliments.  Next, Ellen, the stage director, took center stage as she
gave her traditional speech about how we were so unruly backstage.  She
told of how difficult it had been keeping us quiet.  The stern talk was
accompanied by her usual trace of a smile at the corners of her mouth.  By
the end, she was grinning along with the rest of us.  It was an old joke.
Ellen was like a mother hen keeping her brood under control.  Our antics
backstage were always a much better show than what was taking place on
stage.  One of her many jobs was keeping things under control so the
audience heard the play and not our shenanigans.

   Next, there were a few gifts to hand out.  Most were gag gifts related
to mistakes that had taken place during the various performances.  One
member of the cast had to grow a mustache for his part.  His wife
apparently didn't care for it because her gift to him was a can of shaving
cream and a razor.  Another gift was one of those satin sleeping masks,
intended for another male member of the cast.  In his haste one night, he
had mistakenly wandered into the women's dressing room.  Ellen explained
that he should carry the mask around with him during future performances so
he could put it on in case he ever ended up in the women's dressing room
again.  The director handed out the signed posters, a keepsake I knew I
would treasure.  I planned to frame mine.  I had acted before, but this
play would always hold a special place in my heart.  Because of Jill.

   Jill.  Still she hadn't arrived.  After the gifts, the party broke up
again into little groups which I wandered through.  We relived the show,
and past shows, as we swapped stories.  We laughed at our mistakes and at
memorable members of the audience.  When the audience came up, someone
asked about that rumor we had heard.  Had there really been a talent scout
in the audience?  The question was laughed off because someone always
started a rumor like that, probably to inspire all of us to put out our
best effort.  This time, the producer announced that there had, indeed,
been a "special guest" in the audience.

   I was in the study, talking with a few fellow actors.  As they drifted
out to get more food, I was admiring the posters on the wall, souvenirs of
past performances.  I was looking at one in particular, at Jill's signature
on it, when I heard a voice just outside the door say, "I think he's in
there."

   A sound caught my ear.  It was quieter in the room than in the rest of
the house at that point because I was the only person there at that moment
- or so I thought.  I could just hear footsteps behind me.

   "Richard?" It was Jill's voice.  Not Jill's voice laced to overflowing
with excitement like I had heard it on the stairs in the theater earlier.
There was sadness in it as well.  I turned.

   Jill was still dressed as I had last seen her.  She had a look about
her; I guess it was determination.  Something was different, like she had
reached a turning point, a junction in her life.  She took a deep breath as
I turned to face her.

   I stretched out my arms, my palms upraised, as I asked, "So what's the
big news?" I smiled in anticipation, anxious now to find out what was going
on.  I wanted to share in her joy.

   When I said that, Jill's face lit up for an instant.  Only for an
instant, as if she had suddenly remembered something wonderful.  Then the
concern reappeared.  I'm not sure if it was concern, or something darker.
Something was definitely weighing heavily on her that evening.

   "Richard, I have wonderful news." Then she sighed and her expression
fell further as she continued.  "Awful news."

   "What?" I asked, incredulous.  "Which is it?"

   "Both.  Neither.  I don't really know.  Oh, Richard!" she cried out as
she ran to me and embraced me.  I held her as her breath caught.  I was
stunned by her words.  She looked up to me, her face now a mask of
determination again.  I'm sure I was wearing a quizzical expression.

   Jill took a deep breath, then another and still another before beginning
her explanation.  I enjoyed the feeling of her body pressed against mine as
I waited.  "Remember that rumor tonight?" I nodded, so anxious to hear her
explanation that I didn't want to interrupt her by speaking.  "Well, it was
true.  He talked to me onstage after the play." I nodded, remembering the
man in the dark suit.  My heart pounded in excitement as I waited for Jill
to continue.  I was sure I knew what she was going to say but I waited to
hear it from her lips.  "He had heard of me, of my work.  He came tonight
to see me." The happy excitement was back in her voice.  "He offered me a
part in a professional production."

   She slipped away from me at that point.  Her expression had changed from
the elation earlier to great sadness.  She turned away from me, facing the
window.  When she spoke, I could hear grief in her voice now.  Something
was tearing her up, and I knew she wasn't acting this time.  She kept
facing the window as she spoke quietly.

   "You asked me once what I thought about when I made myself cry on stage.
I'm ready to tell you now."

   It was dark outside so I could clearly see the reflection of her face in
the glass.  It pained me to see how sad she was.

   "I was in love...  a few years ago.  He was wonderful," she said, and I
could hear a joy in her voice even if her expression didn't show it.  "We
were together and happy.  Then, I got a part in a play.  The theater took a
lot of time.  Our relationship suffered." Here the sadness returned to her
voice.  "I finally had to choose - my love for him, or...  my love for the
theater." I heard her swallow hard.  I could also see the movement of her
throat in her reflection.  "I'll never forget the look on his face, or the
pain in my heart, when I left him.  I promised I'd never do that again to
someone I loved."

   Jill was quiet for maybe a minute, reflecting.  Then, in a stronger
voice, "He offered me a big part.  It's what I've always wanted to do. 
Only ..."

   Focusing on the window pane, I could see her tears reflected as they
traced down her lovely face.

   "The play opens in two weeks.  In New York.  I have to -" I clearly
heard the tears in her voice now.  She took a deep, shuddering breath.  "I
have to leave tonight.  It's all so sudden but I have to do it.  I called
my boss at home and told him I'm leaving.  He wasn't happy, but he
understood that this was my big break - what I always wanted.  I have to
fly to New York tonight.  I start rehearsal in the morning." She took
another deep breath, then spoke very softly.  "I had to choose again." The
tears were flowing freely now.  "I'm sorry, Richard." She turned and
brushed my cheek with a kiss as she walked past me and out of the room.  It
took all the strength I had in me not to try to stop her.  I wanted her,
and I knew now that she loved me as well, but I also knew she loved
something else.  I loved her enough to let her go.

   I took two faltering steps towards the window in hopes of catching a
last fleeting glimpse of her car as she drove away.  I wondered if she
would be thinking of me the next time she needed to cry onstage.

   It was raining now, the heavy drops pelting loudly against the window.
Reaching the window, I focused first on the glass, and saw my own tears
reflected.



   The End
   This story is Copyright (C) 2005 by Strickland83.  All rights reserved.

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