Chapter 7
Right, so I know this has gone on too long without an update and I'm sorry. All credit for this update goes to my friend Nikki who never got off my bum about updating and to whomever was the fiftieth reviewer. Woot to the two of you! On with Chapter Seven.
No one was surprised that Holmes had gotten the part. Matt was thrilled that the lead was going to be so well played, and the two females in the cast (plus the entirely female stage crew) were drooling over the "hot English guy" that mysteriously showed up.
His ego swelled to match, making him almost impossible to live with. All I heard about for a week after he knew he got the part was how fabulous his audition was, didn't I think? And how he could be an actor if Pip didn't figure out how to send him back, and how this was going to be one of his best achievements yet. I pricked him with a pin after that one.
Let me set the stage for you. As he got the part, all Sam's costumes had to be refitted to him. As I was costume mistress, that fell to me. After dinner every night, he would run lines (he needed to be off book in two weeks, and Matt was a freak about having all lines word perfect) while I altered costumes. That particular night, I had him standing on the coffee table while I tried to let the hems out of the pants to make them long enough to not look ridiculous. He jumped when the pin found leg rather than charcoal colored cloth and glared down at me. I mumbled an apology through gritted teeth (I was trying not to laugh…and failing) which he didn't buy at all.
I really just couldn't resist poking the sleeping dragon in the eye. He was an egotistical jackass sometimes, and he needed to be deflated. "I've seen better you know." His head wiped around, and if looks could kill I would be toast. "Oh yeah. When we did Rumors last semester, the boy that played Lenny was amazing. There was a talent scout in the audience; I think they're still in negotiation. He was the best I've ever seen." How I pulled that one off with a straight face I will never know. In reality, the boy that played Lenny in Neal Simon's Rumors never actually learned his lines and had to adlib the entire show. It was terribly funny though.
"I shall have you know," he began, rather pompously, "That the director said I was one of the best he has ever seen. He said that, if I could sing, I should be able to make it on Broadway, whatever that means." He was still glaring down at me, the bright red script under his hawk-like nose, the ill fitting costume hanging from his boney shoulders, and I couldn't handle it any longer. I burst out laughing, spilling the pins I had in my lap all over the floor. He made a valiant effort not to join me in laughter, but after about a minute he had to climb down off the table because he wasn't steady on his feet anymore he was laughing so hard.
"Watch the pins," I choked out, trying to see through the tears streaming down my face to pick them up. He ignored me, probably sticking himself several more times around the ankles as he crawled around on hands and knees with me trying to get all the pins before my MIA cat (who was probably with Richard) stepped on them. I was tossing the pins (which were very small, by the way) into the huge red skirt I always wore while doing alterations. I'd made it myself while I was in high school for a Renaissance Fair, and it came in handy because it could hold about three thousand pins and scissors and a pin cushion and a tape measure and chalk. I got a look from Holmes when he first saw me in it, but he didn't actually say anything. I almost got the feeling that he approved. It was weird.
Anyway, I was throwing the pins back into my skirt, to put back into their little plastic box at a later date, but Holmes was piling them on the table. I swept them all into my skirt (really, it's easier that way) and stuck one into my finger, fairly deeply. I swore like a sailor and jerked the thin bit of metal out of my finger only to have it replaced by blood. Ok, I know I'm a klutz, but I was never this bad until I started living with Holmes. In one deft motion, he took all the pins from my lap (including the bloody one) and relocated them to the table and took my finger in his hand. There were tears pricking the corners of my eyes; it had never hurt that much before, but then I'd never managed to jam one halfway through my finger before. Leave it to me, I suppose. If I can spill scalding coffee on myself, I am open to any folly. As all this was going through my head, he was examining my hand. He stemmed the bleeding with a white handkerchief that he produced from nowhere and looked at me, holding me in place with his eyes. Again.
"Are you usually this prone to accidents?" His face was totally serious, but laughter gleamed from her eyes. I smacked him lightly on the shoulder with the hand he wasn't holding, and mumbled something to the effect of shut up. He laughed and took that hand as well, pulling me up. Of course, that left us in rather close proximity and I don't think he really thought that through. He shot me a deer in the headlights look and he squeezed me hands, pulling me half a step closer. I stopped breathing there for a second, and…
The bell rang.
I blinked, letting out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and swore quickly in French before opening the door. Pip stood on the other side of it, looking disgustingly cheerful. She was holding my laptop and a bag of cookies that looked as if they'd been baked over a Bunsen burner flame. I just looked at her for a second; it was seven thirty at night and she hadn't called. This was unusual, even for Pip.
"You look flushed Lizzy," she said, pushing past me. "Are you alright? You don't have a fever do you? I know you don't like to wear a coat in the winter, but…" she looked at me, obviously waiting for an answer.
"Um," I said eloquently, trying to buy myself time. "I was sitting by the radiator." Wow. That was lame. And Pip knew it. And I knew that Pip knew it. But she didn't say anything, probably because she knew exactly why I was flushed.
Yup that was it. She glared at me for just a moment, before grabbing my elbow and dragging me into the kitchen, with a clipped hello to my houseguest. Pip deposited my computer on the counter and put the cookies on the table in front of us and started eating one. I did nothing. It was something like being grilled by my mother when I came in past curfew and smelling of liquor. Pip swallowed and started in on me.
"What did you do to Holmes?" Not one to mince words, our Pip.
"I didn't do anything! You came in at a most inopportune moment." I couldn't resist; I knew a Pirates reference would irk her, especially when dealing with Holmes and a love life.
"Elizabeth! You know what I mean; did you slip him something?" I must have looked disgusted, because she felt she ought to elaborate on that one. "Well, you read the same stories I did. The only person he showed even the slightest interest in was Irene Adler, and that was only because she beat him. It just doesn't make sense that he's here making out with you in your living room, without so much as a by-your-leave."
I just looked at her. "How the hell long were you standing outside the door?" Pip blushed. Ok, long enough to hear the lead up then. "And to answer your question, I have no idea what's gotten into him. I did not drug him, Pip, and I can't believe that you would think that. My best guess is this: it's really obvious that now is a lot different from when he is from. What almost just happened would not be ok in Victorian London, but it's definitely ok here. Maybe he's just trying to fit in. Maybe he realized that nobody is as repressed as he is in the emotion department, and decided to act on his emotions for once, especially as I was certainly not going to shoot him down. Maybe repressed Victorian gentleman plus repressed Victorian lady doesn't equal sparks. I really don't know, Pip, but I'm going to go with it."
"Maybe he can hear you and he does not appreciate being spoken of behind his back." Holmes was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and looking terribly stern. Pip and I were frozen with shock for…far longer when we ought to have been, and probably looking at him like rabbits caught in headlights. Pip recovered herself first, of course, and jumped up from her seat next to me at the table.
"Oh geez, look at the time. I must be going. Lovely to see you again, Mr. Holmes!" She bolted for the door and I heard it slam behind her about a second later. Which meant I was alone in the kitchen with an irate detective. An irate and emotionally repressed detective that had been about to kiss me twenty minutes ago and looked as though he would rather strangle me now. Great.
"Um," I tried, "Pip's right…It's bed time. Night!" I tried to push past him, but he caught me around the middle, forcing me back into the room. I sighed in defeat and sat back down. He joined me at the table a moment later.
"Must you speak of me as though I were not here?" Wow. He did the guilt trip thing better than my grandmother did.
"In our defense, we didn't think you could hear us. And you have to admit, it's interesting." He scowled at me. "Ook, maybe you don't. But try and see it from our point of view. You never wasted an opportunity to say how much you disliked the company of women, how you thought them the less intelligent of the sexes and how you would never marry, let alone get involved with a woman. Your behavior here has been a bit out of character."
I ventured a look up at his face after that speech. His lips were pressed together and his eyes were tired.
"You are right. But I have never met anyone quite like you before Elizabeth. You have a tendency to make me forget where I came from and live in the moment." He wasn't looking at me, which was just as well, as I am sure I resembled a tomato. "I think what you said about repression had merit. Perhaps we could, to borrow your phrase, just go with it?" He did look at me then, looking for an answer.
"That sounds good to me. But the break's over, my friend. You need to get your lines memorized and I need to get your costumes done so Matt doesn't kill us both. " I got up (again) and this time found no restraints on my leaving. He followed me, rather like a lost puppy, back into the living room and jumped back up onto the table, script in hand. I knelt at his feet, trying to get the hems of his pants to lay flat and pulled pins out as I stitched. I listened to the lines I nearly knew by rote as well, and the rest of two hours passed in relative ease.
After he changed out of the costume, that actually fit him like it was supposed to, we settled down on the couch with hot coco and popcorn and watched Shrek. He was amused by the animation, I think, but he told me later he "Preferred films that did not feature drawings dancing about." It was about midnight at that point, and I was nearly dead. I bowed out for bed, bringing the dishes into the kitchen. He caught up my hand when I passed the couch and kissed it, whishing me a sweet sleep. I blushed, returning the sentiment and fairly running to the safety of my room. I didn't sleep much that night, having waaaay too much to think about, regarding what would happen after the show, assuming Pip and her boyfriend could fix their program. I could not stand in the way of him going home. It was selfish and I couldn't do it. I would just have to live in the moment and burn that bridge when we got there. If we got there.
Ok. Sorry for the delay. Real Life reared its ugly head and I've been doing homework in all my spare time…oh how I love midterms in college. The last several chapters have gone up without benefit of a beta, but that has been remedied. All future chapters will be beta-read. Rumors is the property of Neal Simon, Shrek belongs to some movie house or other, Holmes is public domain, and Pip and Anna are their own people. I just borrow them occasionally. Review?