Masked Cupid - A Short Story

“He’s all over her! As if we’re nothing!” Rhea Nun angled her copper-brown head towards the dazzling spotlight spilling in from the parted black curtains. She eyed askance the radiant figure far out on the stage. The curls suspending from the lead actress’ coiffure swung in time with every graceful motion of her body. Even from backstage, where the sound systems were their worst, her lucid voice made one catch one’s breath in utter wonder. “Just look at her!” Rhea turned suddenly away from the brilliance to the sober mustached man in the shadows just behind her. Peregrine Monks started and backed further into the darknesses. “I could have done her part twice as well as she does! Instead, I’m her understudy, Perry. Me! I sung before thousands in Al Hirschfeld Theatre! What about that kid on stage? I bet she never even went to Broadway Street to watch a single show.” “Don’t say that, not here! Unless you want to be a street musician! Mitty might…” “Don’t you shush me! I don’t care what that stuck-up director thinks! I’ve swallowed it down for too long.” she paused, her eyelids lowered with a perfectly convincing air of sincerity. “I need this. It’s not my fault that I began getting too old for their “concepts” of the characters. I’m only thirty-something! Apparently, they want kids on stage now. I had talent. That’s all they really need. Something those kids just can’t give. Believe me, those Broadway producers are fools!” “Well,” began Perry slowly, and his half-lit face was plunged into darkness. An actor boisterously hustled in through the curtains from the stage. “Almost done, Perry. You’re next in ‘bout two.” He whispered hoarsely and swept past the couple. The woman immediately rose from her seat and squeezed Perry’s hands with a demure smile. “Break a leg.” Perry nodded abruptly, kissed her hand with a theatrical flourish, and parted the curtains. There, silhouetted against the radiant stage lights, stood the lead actress. “Thanks for opening the curtains!” She whispered in a breathless, girlish voice, with a suppressed giggle hidden somewhere in her throat as she descended into the dim room. “Sure.” Perry stammered. Rhea, still standing, blushed suddenly, yet ran over to the younger woman. “Oh, you were amazing, Enne!” She gushed. “How on earth you reach those notes so easily, I’ll never know.” “Do you really think so? I’m glad you do. I can’t wait ‘til this night is over!” The young woman rolled her eyes. “Gee, I didn’t think it was this hard.” “You’ll get used to it,” Rhea said placidly. She handed the girl a bottle of water as Perry exited through the curtains. “So, has Mitty said anything new?” “Nothing that you didn’t know.” “Now, that’s not true, sweetie,” she said, a condescending smile playing about her painted red lips. “He speaks to only you all the time.” Enne stiffened for a moment. “I’m an amateur. So I make a ton of mistakes you, because of your experience, would never make. You’d find it unnecessary to hear them. That’s all.” “Really?” “Really.” She returned shortly. The distorted echoes from the performers on stage rang about them in the momentary lull. “Are you tired of lounging in here so long?” “Oh, it’s a nice break from all the action going on outside,” said the actress. “And Mitty isn’t really my kind of director, anyway. I wouldn’t like working with him as much as you do very much. He’s so strict and old.” She suddenly peered about and lowered her voice. “He’s a little ugly, too, don’t you think? Not exactly a Frank Sinatra! Speaking of singers, that cracked voice of his is just hilarious! I want to cringe and laugh every time I hear it!” she broke into unmuffled gales of laughter. Enne’s eyes seemed to glimmer in the darkness. “He’s very kind and intelligent. There’s more to him than his ugliness, I think.” “So you agree he’s ugly?” “I just think there’s more to him than meets the eye, as the saying goes.” “Rather goody-goody for an actress, sweetie. The audience certainly seems to agree when they reject actors for their looks.” “Well, maybe he was never an actor.” “Nonsense, he was a spectacular actor once, or so Perry tells me (Perry was told by the owner of this theatre himself). What an accomplishment for an old and bald guy like him!” “I don’t care about his ugliness. He’s been very, very good and nice to me.” “You’re generous! I’d never let myself be seen dead around him.” “He told me once,” Enne’s voice suddenly took on a biting accent. “That there was far more to him than what I could see.” Rhea gasped quietly. “Ooooh! So he has told you more than just your mistakes, hasn’t he?” “I’d really rather not talk about this if you don’t mind,” Enne said, managing to force a weak chuckle. “Where are you going to eat tonight? I’m tired of Panda Express by now.” “Enne, it’s not safe to have secrets like this and not tell anyone. You know what I mean, I’m sure.” Rhea said. “What else has he told you?” Enne swallowed, not meeting Rhea’s eyes. “He said only I could understand.” “That’s his little explanation. Show people are nasty folks, you’ll learn that soon enough, sweetie. Now, what did he say?” Enne turned away from the spotlight barely seeping through the curtains. Her shadow sprawled out on the floor, disfigured by Rhea’s combined shadow beside her. “He...um...we haven’t been talking about mistakes. I mean we do, but that’s not all we talk about. He says he likes to be around me because I’m - please don’t take this the wrong way, I’m sure he didn’t really mean it - because I’m genuine and gentle and good and not...not judgemental. That’s what he says, and I’m only repeating it.” “Is that all?” “I wish, I wish! We were conversing yesterday, after that long break just before Act I Scene 9 - do you remember? Yes, well, we were chatting and I asked him again, for I’d asked him before and he’d diverge to some other topic, often so tactfully I never noticed till I got home and thought things over, how he’d come to this position at our theatre. He made one of his weird, slap-your-knee jokes, and then suddenly stopped himself and grew very serious. ‘Enne,’ he said mysteriously, in a tone he’d never used before - oh, it scared me so badly! ‘Enne, who do you think I am?’ “ ‘What do you mean, sir?’ I asked. ‘Do you really think I’m the man you see before you? What would you say...what would you think...if I turned out to be something...different?’ he replied, eying me with a terrible intensity. His voice wasn’t cracked when that time he spoke, now I remember. I hardly noticed then, but now…” Enne stared down at her lap, her fingers curled into their palms. Her hair fell about her face now, and several pins had fallen out. She shook her head. “At any rate, I replied that I really wouldn’t know, and edged back. But he caught my hand, and said in a whisper, though nobody was near for at least three yards all around: ‘This is a game, Enne. All of it. This,’ he pointed to his face, ‘This,’ he motioned towards the theatre, ‘All of it.’ he said with a sigh. And then he…” Enne stopped short. “He said more of that confusing stuff and that was it.” “Enne, what did he say?” “I won’t...I can’t tell you! I see it all now! I’ve been a fool to tell you so much!” Enne rose from her seat, her silk costume rustling with her stride, her earrings tinkling like bells. “Enne! Enne!” Rhea remained seated. “You poor girl, your listening to that maniac is foolishness! I see what he is now, a maniac and a psychopath!” “He said you didn’t know you were a part of that game. He was only sorry I had gotten myself wound up in it.” Enne’s voice was quiet but scathing. “Game, game, game. What game?” “I...I don’t know.” “There! You see! You don’t even understand the subject of his rambles. And you believe him.” Enne held her tongue. Regal in spite of her girlish eyes and small mouth, she stood erect, staring into the darkness. “Hey,” Rhea rose and lay a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. Enne’s body subtly tensed. “We can always test it.” Enne spun and glared at Rhea. “What do you mean?” “Well, we know he’s an actor, don’t we? Or at least claims to be.” Enne did not reply. “And actors, when they need to fill certain roles that their facial features simply won’t fit, they often use masks...do you see my meaning?” “You think he wears a mask?” Rhea shrugged. “I could turn into a bald old man myself with a mask and the help of a good makeup artist. Makeup is magic, you know.” “What might he be underneath?” Enne breathed. “Exactly. All you need is a large mister.” “You mean to remove it? No, no, I can’t!” “Just spray his face with it, maybe five or six times, and rip it off his face. It’s easy.” “Then why don’t you do it?” “Why would I do it? It’s you he’s telling that it’s a game and, after all, the rest of us are in it and just don’t know.” TAP-tap-tap-tap-TAP-tap-tap-tap Perry opened the curtain, light flooding the backstage area. “Heigh-ho, ladies!” He said with a succinct side-glance in Rhea’s direction. Rhea looked away. The lead actress stood peering out the crevices of light in the direction of the bent, bald man seated in the middle of the auditorium. *** Enne’s hand trembled. Her presperating palms were losing their grip on the slim neck of the mister hidden behind her back. Her face muscles tense, she advanced towards the director, Mitty Hooper. He glanced up at her at the sound of her footfalls. “Ah, our prima donna!” he laughed in his odd, elderly way. His voice was everything but melodious and every bit as cracked as Rhea made it out to be, yet it was not, somehow repulsive. Perhaps it was his meticulous cadence and intonation, the perfect accent that gave every explicit sentence a deeper implicit meaning. Enne smiled. “Yes, sir.” She managed with an almost perfect playful air. “Alright, Ensie. By the way, that vibrato you added at the end of today’s rehearsal was just gorgeous, just gorgeous. Though, in that scene with Frank, I’d like you to say a few of your lines facing the audience, that way we can sorta see your reaction to what he’s saying. Good?” “Ah, yes,” Enne said, glancing in the direction of the backstage. “Good. OK.” The director turned once again the clipboard in his fist and walked off. “Have a good night, kid! Rest up! First show’s in two days and you’ll need your stamina for sure there.” Enne looked about her, and then followed the director. “Mr. Hooper! Mitty!” “Yes, Enne?” He said without raising his head. “I...uh…would like to ask you a question,” she said stiffly. Mitty’s eyes met hers. “Yeah, sure.” Enne approached him steadily. “You asked a few days ago who I thought you were,” she spoke in a hushed voice and saw his eyes start for a second. “I didn’t know what you meant. But I want to know: who are you?” “I get a little tumbled in my head, kid! I’m old. Just ignore everything I told you that time.” He very hastily once again preoccupied himself with his clipboard, muttering as he went. Enne eyed him suspiciously as Mitty turned to go. “You’re lying, aren’t you?” “You wouldn’t - couldn’t - understand just now, OK?” The director gazed straight into her eyes. “Just trust me. Have I ever mistreated you?” Enne shook her head. “Harmed you? No? Look, just trust me. It’s got nothing to do with you, kid. I’m not using it for some crime or anything of that sort. So just relax and do your best.” Mitty nodded in his vigorous, old-fashioned way, as though about to leave, yet paused. “Please don’t ask me that question again, Enne. Thanks.” Enne watched him as he hobbled away. She breathed slowly. “Mr. Hooper!” He turned but did not approach. “How am I to trust you when you won’t even tell me who you are?” “All your fellow actors have their own secret life that nobody knows.” “Really? I thought you were different.” “Enne,” he said weakly. “I just can’t. It’s not up to me.” “What do you mean?” “Enne, you won’t understand. Have a good night.” But before he turned, Enne deftly unscrewed her bottle and threw the water onto the old man. His eyes closed. He sputtered. His skin buckled and became paler. His hands grasped his forehead and wrenched his wrinkled, soggy skin with it. His bald head peeled away. Before her stood a kneeling, dripping man in his thirties, with soaked blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, smooth skin, howling in a loud bellowing voice. It was Russell Goldwin. Winner of Three Tonies and a nominee for an Oscar. Dashingly handsome, dazzlingly talented, deafeningly loud - here before her rubbing his burning eyes! Enne gasped, clutching her empty bottle to her breast, yet not uttering a word. Her eyes read nothing but bewilderment and shock and fearful, horrible delight. At length, the man stumbled up and met her eyes - and there was nothing there but fury now. “Is this what you wanted to see, you fool? Well, you’ve seen it. But you won’t see it again, or Mitty Hooper! You’re fired! And take your things! You’re fortunate I won’t report you to the newspapers so you’ll be turned from every interview! Go!” Enne, trembling, flushed and paled in rapid succession. “But what about my role-” “Rhea can do your job just as well as you can and she’s a professional. Not to add that she’s smart enough to mind her own business!” Enne’s eyes began to smart. Her trembling made her breathing evidently uneven, but she fumbled for her bottle and made to flee out the black doors of the auditorium. “You must not tell anyone who I am!” He thundered as the door slammed behind her. *** Enne crouched on her sofa, clutching her pajama-clad knees to her. Dark circles had appeared around her eyes and drooping lids. By her side, an open laptop lounged, its screen cluttered with fifteen tabs, the current one being a Google Search that read “what to do with a ba in theatre arts”. The little line beside it was still blinking vindictively. She held her blonde, tousled head in one hand while fingering a remote control in the other, her vacant eyes staring down at the wooden coffee table on which reposed an heirloom clock with massive black hands. 10:00. AM A buzzer suddenly cut through the silence. She started, alarmed by the noise, but did not stand. The obnoxious vibrato of the doorbell rung again. She remained curled up on the couch, two wary blue eyes watching the door. It blasted a third time. At last, flinging the throw on her lap to the floor, she scurried to the apartment door. “Kevin, I don’t need you to take me to the theatre anymore, thanks. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.” She said impatiently as she unlocked the door and cracked it open. “I can’t give you tips, maybe some other day, but not now. ‘Kay-” “I’m not your Uber chauffeur, Enne.” Broke in a deep, gentle voice. Enne jerked her head up. Two piercing blue eyes stared down at her from under a navy blue baseball cap, with short waves of blonde hair barely peeping out from underneath. “Mi-Mr...Goldwin!” she fumbled and blushed a deep crimson. “I...wanted to speak with you. I texted and called and figured you’d probably blocked me.” Enne lowered her eyes. “Yeah, I guessed you would.” He chuckled awkwardly, but here it was quite different from Mitty’s raspy tenor titters. This was subtler, yet deeper and fuller, full-chested and brawnier. “May I come in? I don’t mind about them.” He motioned towards her pajamas. Enne stiffened, and flushed a deeper red. “Well, I mean...if you want, sure, I guess…” She led the way into her apartment and shut the door behind her, but did not lock it. Russel seated himself on her sofa and leaned his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. As Enne slowly approached, he turned his head. “Enne, I...ahem...apologize. It was wrong of me to speak to you that way...I mean you really shouldn’t have done that - what on earth made you do it, by the way? You were meddling in things too big, for you kid!” “What do you mean?” Enne murmmered. “I was part of an experiment. You ever heard of that time where a famous violinist played in the streets and no one recognized him? They barely threw a dime for his efforts. But at his concert, he was showered with applause and everything. Well, we tried an experiment like this. I’m famous and all, so I had to go round in a mask. It was all a game, Enne. But a pretty well-paying one!” He laughed. “So none of it was real?” “They think it is - the actors, I mean. But I have my spies. Perry, for one…” “Perry!” Enne clapped her hands on her mouth. “Actors make pretty good spies, don’t they? Well, anyhow, as we got on...I got to know you…” His voice trailed off and stopped as he looked expressionlessly at the clock before him. He faced her, his eyes teary. “I want you back, Enne. Please. I’ve missed you...” “Me?” “Yes, you! Perry told me about Rhea. I have a hunch, but I don’t know...did she put you up to it…” “Not really...not completely. I didn’t trust you. I wish I had...oh, please, please forgive me.” Enne sobbed into her palms. Russell wrapped his arm round quivering Enne’s shoulders. “By the way,” she whispered. “My name’s not really Enne. It’s a nickname I gave myself because I thought it was more original than the nickname my parents always called me.” “What did they call you?” “Anne. Short for Anima.”