Chapter 7 – Annabeth

There's an old saying in the theater. It says, 'if you have a lousy dress rehearsal, you're sure to have a great show.'

If there's any truth to it, Annabeth told herself, I have nothing to worry about.

She didn't wait for the curtain to close on the play's final scene. She shouted her review of the performance from her seat at the center of the empty auditorium.

"Soulless!" she shouted. "Amateurish!"

Sitting next to her, Grover nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Well, it wasn't wonderful," he conceded.

Wonderful? She thought. With the sets falling down? The doors sticking? The cork getting stuck in the wine bottle? Wonderful? With the leading lady, Charlotte Davison, projecting all the regal bearing of Princess Grace and all the warm vulnerability of Hilary Clinton? Wonderful? With Luke -?

"Want to talk to them?" asked Grover.

"No," Annabeth decided.

It was a radical decision, she knew. But with only four hours to go before they opened in front of an auditorium filled with paying customers, there was nothing she could say to her actors that she hadn't already said to them a hundred times before. Whatever last-minute reminders she had for them, she could save for her pep talk, just before the curtain. Right now, they'd probably profit most if she gave them a chance to stew in their own juices for a while.

As Annabeth rose from her seat, Grover said, "What should I tell them?"

"Repent!" said Annabeth. Squeezing past him, she made her way to the aisle.

"That's all?" asked Grover.

"No," said Annabeth. She had to do something about Luke.

"Luke?" he guessed.

"Yes," said Annabeth.

"Shoot him?" asked Grover.

"Tell him to meet me in the cafeteria," she said.

"Ah!" said Grover approvingly. "Poison him."

"Rehearse him," said Annabeth. "That's where I'll be, if you need me." She turned and hurried up the aisle. Reaching the door, she paused and turned back to Grover.

"But Grover," she called.

He was halfway down the aisle by now, heading backstage. He stopped and turned to her.

"Don't need me," Annabeth pleaded. Then she turned and headed out the door. As she moved down the empty hallway, heading for the cafeteria, she told herself, It's got to get better, because it can't get any worse.

Annabeth had been wrong about Luke. Dead wrong. He was as smart as she'd hoped. Smarter. He'd learned all his lines, letter-perfect, overnight.

And he could be funny. In exactly the chip-on-the-shoulder way Mike Connor was supposed to be funny.

And cute? Yes, he was cute. But what good did it do him? None!

Because, as cute and funny and as smart as he was, when it came to women – and especially when it came to Charlotte Davison – Luke was totally helpless.

Of course, right from the start, Annabeth expected Luke might have a little trouble dominating Charlotte. After all, so far as Annabeth knew in real life nobody ever had.

She also expected Luke to be a little awkward and embarrassed kissing Charlotte. Strange as it may seem, making an on-stage kiss seem natural is one of the hardest things for an actor to do. But with practice – of which there'd been plenty, these last four days and nights – Annabeth had felt sure these minor problems would go away.

Except they hadn't. The first time Luke was introduced to Charlotte he'd been completely overwhelmed by her and, up to this moment, he still hadn't recovered.

And the kiss!

God! You could see Luke working up the courage for the kiss from the moment he walked on stage, early in the first act, until the moment he actually go to it, deep in the second act. It was like he'd never kissed a girl before.

Which, when Annabeth thought about it, might even be the case. When she thought about it – much too late in the game – it occurred to Annabeth that she'd never heard of Luke going out with anybody. Not that he didn't date, or spend some time hanging out with one girl or another. It was just that, so far as Annabeth could discover, it was never any one girl. Or, if he did see a lot of any one girl, she was likely to be one of those girls that boys hung out with, but hardly ever go out with. Annabeth knew the type. All to well. She was the type.

Now it was time to turn Luke around. It was her one last chance to bring out all the overbearing masculinity she knew Luke had in him. Her final crack at turning Luke into a reasonable facsimile of Tracy Lord's savior and everyone's favorite chauvinist pig, Mike Connor.

Entering the cafeteria, Annabeth set to work, moving chairs and tables around, positioning them so they'd approximate the furniture on the set for Mike and Tracy's big love scene. The love scene was the key to the whole play. If she could make that work, the play would work.

But how? The truth was, she had no idea what she'd do with Luke, once he arrived. Over the last four days, she'd try everything short of –

"Hey," said Luke. He was standing in the doorway, watching Annabeth arranging the furniture. "Setting up for a funeral?"

Jesus! Thought Annabeth. He looks like his dog just died!

"Charlotte hasn't been giving you much help," she told him. It was, she told herself, at least half the truth.

"Man, she is beautiful," said Luke, shaking his head. "But I don't seem to be making much of an impression on her, do I?"

"Because she is Charlotte!" said Annabeth, "If you'd think of her as Tracy –"

"But she's not Tracy!" Luke insisted. For a moment, he looked like he might burst into tears. Quickly, averting his gaze, he dropped his eyes to the floor.

Poor guy! Thought Annabeth. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," she said, very softly, very calmly. After a moment, Luke looked up at her.

"You know," Annabeth told him, very softly very calmly, "they're just girls, Charlotte and Tracy. And you're just boys, Mike and you. And sometimes…" She pressed the palm of her hand to Luke's chest and looked deep into his eyes. "Sometimes" she continued, her voice sounding a little husky in her ears, "boys and girls. It doesn't matter who they are. Or where they are. Or what's going on around them. They just want each other so much. They –"

Luke kissed her. As she's been hoping he would. For the sake of the show, Annabeth told herself. Only. It feels so good, kissing him! With his mouth – so hungry – pressed against her mouth! With his arms – so long and strong – wrapped around her! With his body – his breath coming deep and slow – pressed against hers!

"Mmm…." She murmured – when, at last, the kiss had ended. For a moment, she just looked at him. And then she raised her face to be kissed again. And this time – it seemed to last forever and yet, it ended all too soon.

"Mm…" Annabeth nestled her cheek against his chest. She couldn't believe what she was feeling! She wouldn't believe it! She'd gotten carried away, playing the part of Tracy. That was all. It had to be!

For a moment, basking in the warmth of Luke's embrace, Annabeth said nothing. But then, after a moment, she whispered his name – not Luke's name, but his name. She called him Mike. And then, just as she hoped, Luke whispered her name. He called her Tracy. And then they were playing the scene, speaking the lines and feeling the feelings – as is she was Tracy Lord and he was Mike Connor.

All of a sudden, in the wake of Mike's kiss, Tracy seemed to have the shakes. So did Mike. Tracy wondered what it was that had shaken her so. Mike thought it might be love. Tracy said it couldn't be. And yet….

Mike started to kiss her again. And Tracy seemed willing. But suddenly, as is she'd heard a startling sound, she broke away from him. Someone was coming. Mike cursed.

"Good!" said Annabeth, calling an end to the scene they were playing. "You're a good kisser," she Luke – like she was a teacher, grading his paper.

"Yeah," said Luke, smiling shyly. "Well, I'm glad you think so, anyway."

He was still thinking about Charlotte!

"I'm not Charlotte," Annabeth admitted.

"No," said Luke.

The swine! "But I'm not exactly chopped liver, either," she reminded him.

"No," he said, smiling. "Not exactly."

Annabeth laughed. "Want to try it again?" she dared him.

"Sure," Luke said.

She smiled. "Too bad! I've got to run over the lighting cues."

Luke laughed.

Quickly, Annabeth turned and headed for the door.

"Thanks!" he called to her.

Pausing in the doorway, like Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not, Annabeth smiled and lifted an eyebrow and said, "The pleasure was all mine."

Luke laughed again, as she turned and went out the door.

Wow! She told herself as she hurried down the hallway. What some people won't do, just to get a good performance out of an actor.


The drumbeat of the rain, the sting of the raindrops pelting against her upraised face – this, Annabeth had to remind herself, was neither.

This was the shower in the girls' locker room, downstairs from the auditorium where - in about half an hour - the curtain would be going up on The Westport High School Drama Club's Production of Philip Barry's The Philadelphia Story, a Comedy in Three Acts.

In just a few minutes, the ushers would be opening the doors to the auditorium and showing the audience – including Stephanie Walsh, the drama critic of The Westport Chronicle, and her own parents and the parents of her friends, and her enemies – to their seats.

But Annabeth did not want to think about any of them or any of that, now. She'd just extricated herself from the last of a series of last-minute crises that had kept her hopping from the moment she walked out of the cafeteria,, wondering what in the world she was doing, kissing Luke Castellan, in the middle of the afternoon, before the evening of -!

Annabeth shook her head. She didn't want to think about that right now, either! She didn't want to think about anything.

This is the proverbial calm before the proverbial storm and she wanted to enjoy every last second of it, for as long as she could.

And how long is that? She wondered.

Opening her eyes, she squinted through the pelting rain of the shower and checked out the time on her trusty – water-resistant to 100 meters – Timex watch. It was pushing seven-thirty. Storm time was fast approaching. Calm time was over.

Quickly turning off the shower, she grabbed a towel from a pile near the door and hurried out into the locker room. Stepping over her discarded shirt and jeans, which lay crumpled on the floor where she'd dropped them only a few minutes ago, she hurried over to the locker where she'd stowed the opening-night outfit that she'd brought with her from home this morning.

Hurrying, Annabeth toweled herself dry, slipped into her panty hose, and stepped into the clingy black silk dress she bought just the weekend before. Annabeth supposed it was odd of her not to own the "little black dress" before now. The only other dress in her wardrobe is a sundress she'd had to get, back in June, so she wouldn't look too out of place at a distant cousin's lawn party wedding.

But the way that Annabeth saw it, putting on a dress and makeup and jewelry was what girls did to attract the attention of boys. And she wasn't much interested in attracting the attention of boys who were attracted by dresses and makeup and jewelry.

Annabeth dressed for herself. She wore jeans, mostly with sneakers or boots. And a lot of different tops – all of them pretty, and each of them, for one reason or another, interesting in its own. She normally wore her blonde hair with its princess curls in a ponytail. No makeup and only subtle perfumes.

But that was it. That was Annabeth. Take her or leave her.

Because, if her experiences so far had taught her anything, it was that most boys weren't worth the all-out effort most girls put into attracting them. Particularly if they happened to be athletes. They were the worst. Although it has taken her forever to realize it. During her first three years of high school, she'd gone through a "jock phase". It had been part of her search for a tough guy with the soul of a poet. But none of the athletes she went out with had anything like the soul of a poet. Instead, what they had, every single one of them, was this born-to-win attitude that turned their relationships into contests, the girls they went out with into opponents and their opponents' body parts into trophies.

After awhile, Annabeth had enough of jocks and their games. By the time she finished her junior year, she'd bench herself. For good.

Annabeth sighed and stepped into her black high heels. She fastened the diamond pendant with the antique gold chain – which was a gift from her father on her sixteenth birthday – around her neck. The final touches were the pearl earrings that her stepmother had loaned her for good luck.

Then, after a fast glance in the mirror, she took off, clattering her heels over the locker room's tiled floor, hitting the brakes and skidding out the door.

A few moments later, she was backstage, telling the cast their work was over and now was the time to relax and enjoy themselves. All they had to do, Annabeth told them, was trust the play to carry them through, and, she added, "Remember everything I taught you."

With that, she turned and gave Luke a big wink and said, "Especially you." And then, while everybody laughed and Luke blushed, she told them they were going to be wonderful and headed for the wings.

And a few moments after that, as the houselights dimmed for the start of The Philadelphia Story, she was standing at the back of the auditorium, next to Grover and Mr. Brunner, praying that her cast would not make a liar out of her.


A/N: As always, thank you for reading my story. As the drama unfolds, remember that Percy and Annabeth need to go through their respective relationships before they find each other. And trust me, it is worth the wait. And to give you a little preview of what's to come, Thalia will make an appearance. The next chapter (Percy) will be up by the weekend. Please feel free to review and ask any questions you may have. I promise to get to all the reviews and emails in the next few days.

Enjoy and Happy Reading - MFP