Knowing His Secret Read Online Free

as I did.
    Tom taught speech and drama at the local high school but told me he aspired to greater things. A t his age, he had to realize he'd never achieve anywhere near the success of the five young bucks he was directing. In fact, it was more than likely he'd never do anything more creative than directing Little Theater.
    He explained early on that I would be filling in on stage when any of the guys had to miss a rehearsal. "Occasionally, one of them will have to go into the city," he had explained. Most of the time, if they worked at all during the summer, they did it virtually. "From the poolside, with a beer in one hand and a babe in the other," he had said, somewhat bitterly.
    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 w here 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