ENTR'ACTE

"I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."
—W. B. Yeats

This Is Not a Dress Rehearsal

Cully was already back in what might be termed street clothes before Gavin even knocked on her dressing room door. "It's open," she called as she pulled her jumper over her t-shirt. Her final costume hung neatly beside the door with the shoes beneath; all the others she had worn throughout the play had been returned to the wardrobe manager with each change.

Finally sitting in front of the mirror, she could hardly stand the sight of herself up close. So long as the makeup was on her face, she was more a clown than a human being. The blush and bronzing powder highlighting the sides of her face had been laid on in thick stripes almost to her ears, and the shadow above her eyes had been painted with a heavy hand up to the bone of her eye socket, resulting in a skeletal appearance at such a short distance. Sometimes, the costumes seemed utterly plain in comparison to the cosmetics they all wore.

The door creaked open slowly, and Gavin poked his head into the room at the same rate. "Hello," he said quietly as he stepped inside. He was looking more at his feet than her, though their eyes would only have met as reflections in the mirror.

"You don't have to tiptoe," Cully said, rubbing the first of what she knew would be many cleansing wipes over her right cheek.

Just as carefully as he had opened the door, Gavin closed it, turning around to stare at what he was doing. Or perhaps, just to look away for a moment. "Well—"

"At least around me." Glancing at the damp paper in her hand, Cully shuddered: it was already stained pink, tan, and even copper, with most of her face still to go. "But I can't speak for anyone else."

He looked up. "What do—" he began, but he stopped just as quickly.

"What is it?" She ran the cloth over her cheek again, watching him approach with one of the most confused expressions she had ever seen him wear.

"Blimey...They put enough on you?"

"You'd never see it otherwise."

"You look like a clown."

"I know." She turned the wipe over, scrubbing it against the same patch of skin.

"Bit much, don't you think?"

She crumpled the wipe into a ball before dropping it into the bin beside her chair, then pulled another from the pack. "If it's not overdone, not even the back of the orchestra will see it."

In the mirror, Cully saw Gavin's face fall. "There'll be an orchestra?"

"No," she said, finally judging her right cheek to be clean. "That's just another name for the front of the auditorium. Would it bother you if there were?"

"Seems—like it'd be a bit much."

"Well, there isn't." Moving to her left cheek, Cully added, "Good thing you weren't up in that section tonight."

His eyes darkened. "Cully, I'm sorry, I really am."

Cully continued scrubbing away at her face, not really looking at him. "I'm sure."

"I don't know what you want me to say—but I am."

"I believe you, Gavin"—her hand became even heavier, and she felt a hole rip into damp fabric—"but it's a little awkward. For you and for me. Everyone knows that—"

"I know that."

"But I thought you knew—phones are never a good idea in the theater."

"I couldn't really turn it off, could I?"

"You could have done something."

He opened his mouth briefly, then closed it. "Well—I could have—" He released a deep breath. "I fell asleep, Cully."

"You what?"

"Yes...Really, I'm—"

"Don't say it," she said, dropping her hand from her face. "Remember?"

"What? Oh," he whispered. "But I am."

She had to hold back the laugh at Gavin's reddening skin, for she could either chuckle or curl her hands into fists out of increasing frustration. "Those were some beady eyes on you, weren't they?"

"'By—by the way,'" Peter said, his voice uncertain, "'I came down for something.'" Cully tensed her shoulders, trying to hide her wince as the buzzing repeated itself. Oh, Gavin, she thought, you didn't, did you? "'I forget what it was'," he added.

"'Your slippers'," she said, almost wincing again. Her voice was too quiet...but how could it not be? It was embarrassing, for everyone knew she had brought him to the theater!

Peter turned around, rather more enthralled with his feet and the stage floor than the current scene. "'Oh yes, of course. You shied'—" He stopped entirely, looking up and out into the auditorium as the ringing continued. "What the—" The director interrupted before he could say much else.

"Where the hell is he? Where is he with that wretched phone?" The phone's ring went on for another moment, but then vanished, only to be replaced by more shouting as Pearson stood, throwing his arms up as he strode briskly to the end of his row. "Since we've already been interrupted, let's discuss that mess..."

He made it to the stage and stomped up the stairs before speaking again. "What were you doing?" Pearson shouted, stabbing his finger into Peter's chest.

Peter actually took a step back. "I—"

"That was rubbish! Rubbish!"

"But—"

"Higgins would never behave in such a buffoonish way as you did!"

Cully swallowed around a lump in her throat. "But that's what he is—"

"Not in an incompetent way! And don't think you're any better!" Pearson shouted, wrapping his hand around her upper arm and tugging her back to the fireplace. "It'll never happen tomorrow, all of you: it will never happen!"

Peter stepped forward, nearly tripping over his own toes. "There was nothing wrong—"

"Watch yourself!"

"What were we supposed to do when we were interrupted like that?"

"Keep on with it—if you're the professionals you all claimed to be..."

Though Pearson continued to yell, Cully stopped listening. Instead, she ran her eyes across the black auditorium, not knowing what—if anything—she wanted to see. But there was nothing in the darkness, not even a shadow moving against the theater lights. Not gone out to take your call? she wondered.

"Come on, come on," Pearson shouted, still waving his hands about. "Let's get on with it, and let him alone! We've got enough to do!"

In the end, the more Cully lingered on the past three or so hours, the less she found it amusing.

"I'm happy to let it alone if you are," Gavin said, starting to pace back and forth, disappearing from the edges of her mirror as he reached either terminus of his path.

Satisfied that at least the lower portions of her face were clean, Cully said, "I will, as long as you promise you won't do the same thing tomorrow night." Getting rid of the soiled wipe, Cully took yet another one to begin cleaning her eyelids and the heavy shadow that had transformed her eyes into those of a skull's.

For a moment, she thought Gavin laughed. "I can definitely promise you that one."

Squinting at the mirror with her one open eye, Cully said, "Really?"

Gavin did not respond immediately, instead pacing quicker and quicker, his arms swinging to and fro. "You know what I mean."

"Because you should be watching the play, or because—"

"Please, Cully!"

She nearly opened her other eye, for his words were much louder than she expected. "I—I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's..." With a shake of his head, Gavin fell silent.

"You've read that play..."

She heard him sigh and, in the mirror, she watched his shoulders relax and his pacing immediately cease. "A hundred times?"

"Something like that." Opening the first clean eye with just a bit of a sting from the remnants of cleanser on the lid, Cully closed the other and began to scrub at it as well. "And I think Mum might be a bit upset if you fell asleep during—"

"I never have," Gavin said, stepping toward her.

"I think you just did."

"That's different."

"It was still a performance."

"But not opening night," Gavin said, now just behind her, one of his hands falling onto her left shoulder. "Cully, it was a busy day. A lot had to be done today to keep tomorrow open."

Cully sighed. She wasn't about to pretend she wasn't aware of that fact, for she saw it constantly, whether in Gavin or her father. "Well, all you missed was some fiddling by the director." She nearly laughed. "As usual."

"No surprise, then?"

"None at all."

Cully expected him to speak again, to say something—anything—but Gavin was silent, his hand continuing to sit on her shoulder. And for some reason she could not name, her stomach was beginning to churn as she wiped a few final spots on her face: her forehead, her chin, and her temple. His hand was almost trembling, like some thought was troubling him. "Are you all right?"

He didn't answer then, and almost a minute passed before she heard him take in a deep breath. "I really am sorry—"

"I know you are, Gavin," she said, crumpling the last cloth into a ball before tossing it into the bin. "You didn't even have to say so."

His hand slid away, falling to his side. "Well, I couldn't—"

"But I'm happy you did," Cully said as she turned her head over her shoulder, peering up at him. "I think they call that the proper thing to do."

Gavin stepped away, putting at least a couple of feet between them. "Well—" He stopped, almost shaking his hand, like he was uncertain where it ought to be. "But"—he finally ran it through his hair before dropping it again—"can we still let it alone?"

"I think that might be best." Standing, Cully turned back to the table and mirror. But for her bag, everything that lay on the chipped wood could remain. Shouldering it, Cully turned around once more.

"So—that's it?" Gavin asked, starting towards the door just like she did.

"Well, for tonight. All that's left is the first performance."

"Just that?" He opened the door, stepping aside to allow her to go through.

"Well, we can't just keep having dress rehearsals, can we, Gavin?" Rather than walking through the door, Cully reached around him, retrieving her final costume from the hook nailed just beside the hinges and the frumpy black shoes beneath it.

"I suppose not."

"And it's all downhill after that."

As she finally entered the hallway and he pulled the door closed, he asked, "What are you doing with those?"

"What?"

"Those." He waved at the hanger and somewhat frilly dress on it.

"They have to go back to the wardrobe manager," Cully said, starting down the hall to the stairs leading to the backstage area.

"Why?"

"She's in charge of them. Cleans them, irons them, makes sure they're where they should be."

"Oh." By now, they had reached the door at the end of the corridor and this time, Cully only missed her chance to open it by a second; but with her hands full, she wasn't about to protest.

"It's an important position," she added, raising her voice as their footsteps echoed in the tiny corridor.

"Oh...Didn't..."

"You don't work in the theater, Gavin. There's a lot of things you might not know."

After a quiet moment during which they reached the top of the stairwell, he asked, "Have you had dinner yet?"

She shook her head. "No, we haven't had a real break since mid-afternoon."

"Afternoon? You must be hungry."

Though she was used to the creaking of the ancient door, Cully was still startled as Gavin opened it. "Starving a bit." Even his footsteps were quicker after the crash of metal against wood, and he was soon directly beside her.

"After that long, just a bit? Sounds a bit criminal."

She almost smiled even as she finally felt her belly rumbling, complaining after so many lonely hours. "It's something you have to do. You can't really stop in the middle of an act if you're a little peckish."

"Well," he began—but stopped just as quickly. Just shifting her eyes towards him, she saw him slipping his hand into his pocket. Probably for his phone. "Do you want to stop for a bite to eat before we—before I take you home?"

Now, Cully let the smile spread over her face as she actually looked at him. "I'd like that." And suddenly, whatever warmth had crept to her skin with that smile spread to every part of her as Gavin kissed her cheek—ever so lightly, but deliberately. But just as suddenly, that warmth twisted into a knot, no longer hot and painful but cold and unpleasant. Whatever had happened between them before, it had not been like this: intentional as they stood in the cold light of the public eye, almost on the stage! This was not a residential street or the back garden, where things were either unobserved or elicited no comment. The corridor might be empty, but Cully doubted a dozen cast and crew members would have stopped that kiss...not that she would have changed anything.

She couldn't say anything—couldn't look at him—as the wardrobe manager's chaotic haven came into proper view. But Gavin said nothing either; out of the corner of her eye, she saw him taking his phone from his pocket, fiddling with it and looking down as a pink flush ran across his skin. "I'll be right back," she muttered, hurrying forward.

The wardrobe manager was in her own element in her dim corner: she brushed dust from a jacket here, rearranged a dress on its hanger there, and tucked away pair after pair of gently scuffed shoes. Her grey hair flew to and fro as she spun around and a pair of proper middle-aged bingo wings wobbled beneath the sleeves of a red sweater. "Ah, Cully!" she said loudly as she looked up from her cubbyholes.

"Hi, Edith."

"That it for you, love?"

Cully held out her costume, clinging tightly to the hanger until she felt the older woman take it with a firm hand. "Yes, thank you."

Edith shook her head as she gave the dress its first brushing. "No worries, no worries. You're always good about getting them back to me." She leaned forward, cradling the dress in one arm to keep the hem from touching the floor. "Even if you are the last one tonight."

"Better late than never," Cully said with a smile, offering the black shoes in her other hand. Edith always had a kind word for her. "How else would I get it when I need it?"

"Tell that to a couple of your colleagues." The wardrobe manager clicked her tongue as she shook her head again, putting the shoes onto her table and returning her attention to the dress. "Find 'em hanging everywhere, sometimes—covered in dust, too."

Cully looked back over her shoulder as she heard a small noise. There was Gavin, raising his mobile with a small smile on his face. Hopeless, she thought. "If they'd found themselves without a costume whilst waiting to go on in half a minute, they'd be good about it, too," she said, returning her gaze to Edith.

"Only in London."

"I suppose." She had related that incident to the older woman more than once. "But you'd think it would be more common somewhere else, wouldn't you?"

"Of course not, Cully." Edith was examining the top of the dress already, smoothing out a few wrinkles before they could set too deeply. "Anywhere else—in England, you know—there's no chance of turning a profit if you're so disorganized."

Well, Cully thought, letting her mind drift a few months back, it was rather haphazard. "I guess. I had that happen a few times when I was playing Ophelia. In London."

"What happened in London?" Cully nearly jumped at Gavin's question, glancing at him with narrowed eyes. Rather than being a few feet away, he was now just behind her, his hand against the small of her back.

"You startled me—"

"And it's not polite to eavesdrop, young man," Edith added, her words muffled; her back was to them as she tugged on Cully's final costume, trying to get out the few remaining wrinkles.

"What—"

"But that was also the wardrobe manager," Cully said loudly, waving her hand at Gavin. "Don't say anything," she whispered as she leaned toward him. Edith could talk for England, and the last thing either of them needed now was for her to start going on about the earlier interruption. And, then, loudly again, she added: "No sense—or system."

"Hmm," Edith said, now focused on straightening the creases on some trousers. "Shouldn't have had the job, then."

"He was the only one the director ever took on—and it was a small production."

"Still shouldn't have had the job." Lifting the trousers so she could see the hem clearly, Edith nodded before returning the hanger to the rod where all the costumes hung.

"All done?" Gavin asked quietly, now touching her shoulder gently.

"Yes."

Edith turned back to them, reaching for the shoes that still awaited their first examination. Best to say goodbye, Cully thought, and quickly. But then, the older woman smiled. "Ah, it's you, young man..."

Troy's cheeks were again bright red beneath his milky skin. "Um..."

"I wish to offer you many congratulations."

The red, somehow, grew more intense. "I—"

Edith shook her finger as though disappointed—but her expression did not fade. "It's not often that we get to see Paul Pearson so put out by anyone but himself."

Cully's lips were itching, but she refused to give in to the levity. "Um, Edith—"

"We all had quite the laugh back here once he let things go on again."

"It's been lovely to talk, Edith, but we had best be going now," Cully said, stepping back and grasping Gavin's arm to drag him with her. He had become rooted to the spot, almost staring at the worn floorboards. "Gavin has an early start tomorrow—and I'm sure you want a full night's sleep before the premiere, Edith."

"Very early tomorrow," Gavin repeated after a moment, nodding his head vigorously with still flushed cheeks. "Very, very early."

Gavin, I should get your foot again.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Cully," Edith said, slapping her hands together and releasing a small cloud of the dust she had liberated from the clothes and shoes now in her possession. "And you too, I expect?"

He stared at the older woman for a few moments before speaking. "Uh—I think—"

"You'll want to leave the—"

"Yes, Edith, thank you," Cully said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. "Gavin?" Tightening her grip on his elbow, she pulled him backwards, her heart racing when she felt him lose his balance for a moment.

"Good night!" Edith shouted.

"Good night!" Cully shouted back before spinning Gavin around and nearly pushing him forward in a trot. "Well," she added in a whisper, "she's always—chatty."

"I'd have never guessed."

Neither of them spoke as they finally walked to the cast entrance and escaped into the alley; Cully could think of nothing to say, just as she noticed that his hand was in the pocket where he inevitably kept his mobile. "What is it?"

"Nothing—I think."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Missed a couple of calls," he said, bringing it out. "From CID—"

Cully rolled her eyes. "You mean from my dad?"

"Yes," he said with a sigh as he flipped the screen open.

"Gavin, you can just say it—it won't change anything."

She could hardly hear him say, "Oh, I know." Louder, he added, "Just tried to call him back, that's all—"

"Is that why you were smiling?"

"—while you were talking with—what's her name?"

"Edith. And?"

With a shrug of his shoulders, Gavin said, "Nothing. Busy signal—the direct line at his desk."

Cully finally released his arm, only to loop her own around it. "Aren't you going to try to call him again? Or at least the front desk?"

"I could," he said lowly, tapping one of the buttons on the pad, bringing light to the small display. "Maybe—"

"Well, I mean..."

"I don't suppose it was too important," Gavin said, his thumb pausing over the keypad. "Called a couple of times, but he didn't even leave a message—or call again—like before—"

Like before, Cully thought, that hot knot reappearing. Before, when he had first touched her—really touched her, when her own hands had traveled beyond his face and his arms, when the same torment she now felt had swept her away. Don't be like before.

"He would have called again," he said, almost stuttering.

Cully nodded. "Probably."

"Or he would have left a message."

"Of course."

"Only thing to do."

"He wouldn't have made DCI—"

"And it would be nice to not interrupt dinner—"

"Yes," she whispered, sliding her hand down to his and wrapping her fingers around it so tightly, she was certain her knuckles were bright white. Her pace had slowed, and so did his; they were nearly standing motionless, still in the back alley. All words were gone, and Cully swallowed around the sudden lump at the back of her throat, desperate to say something. Gavin was the first to move, coughing as he pulled his hand away. "Ready—to go?"

"Yes—thank you."

He still held his phone, but before putting it back in his pocket, Cully saw him harshly press and hold the end button for several seconds—and then the screen went blank. Off? But Gavin already had the thing closed and in his pocket, exchanging it for his keys before she gave it any more thought.

"So where to for dinner?" she asked as they finally reached the proper street, brightly lit by the lamps lining each side.

"I dunno," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Not as many choices now, are there?"

"There must be a café somewhere."

"Or we could go for a Chinese," he said, his eyes glittering.

Cully shook her head. "Do you ever get tired of takeaways, Gavin?"

"They're good—"

"They're full of salt and grease."

"Why do you think they're good?"

"Do you have any idea how much salt you're supposed to have in a day?"

"No idea."

"Seven grams," Cully said, "not seventeen. Or how much fat?"

"Couldn't say—"

"Probably less than you'll get in a Chinese."

"Or we could get a curry."

"Hopeless..." she muttered. "Just so long as it doesn't keep you up all night," she added. "Don't want you falling asleep during the play again."

Gavin's arm drifted around her, drawing her closer to him as they began to cross the road. He hadn't even looked at her as he did so, like he didn't feel the movement at all. "Oh, believe you me..."

"Good."

"I wouldn't dare." His hand settled on her other side, falling to rest just where her waist rounded into her hip.

Gavin, please... "I didn't think so," she said quietly. Cully could nearly see what might happen, her father smacking Gavin upside the head to wake him up. Or stepping on his foot. She knew her father would have done neither a year ago, no matter his frustration...but that was a year ago, not now.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing." She hadn't even heard herself laugh.

"So what'll it be?" Gavin asked. Together, their pace slowed as they finally reached his car.

"I don't know," she said, laughing again. In that short walk across the street, her body had relaxed as she held herself closer to him. "Why don't we decide when we find it?"

"If you say so," he said, finally taking his hand away from her as he slid his key into the lock to open the door. Without it there, she was almost...cold.

He had opened the door for her—waiting for her to get in, to close the door and make his way to the driver's door... "Gavin, wait."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Her hand rose, touching his chin before moving up to his cheek.

"Then what?" he asked, not even more than a whisper.

"Just—" With just a fingertip, Cully traced the curve of his neck just above the top of his collar before reaching up to kiss him, allowing as much thought as that first time she had done so. His mouth was tense as she took hold of his shirt to keep herself steady.

As he caught his breath, he managed one word: "Cully—"

Now she pressed her lips to his cheek, the skin already warm. "Please don't say anything, Gavin," she said softly. And before she knew it, her hand was at the center of his collar, caressing the once pristine tie knot. He had begun to loosen it himself hours earlier she recalled, but her fingers were already twisted into the silk, further undoing the loop. "Anything at all." The knot came apart in her fingers, exposing the top button of his shirt.

"Cully—I—" He was shaking his head and his face was down like he intended to step away—when he kissed her instead, first her forehead then her mouth.

"Please," she whispered, tapping her fingertips against that button. "It's real, Gavin—this is real...It's not pretend. It never was."

He lifted his hand to cover hers—folding his fingers around them, at once hard, warm, and gentle. Then the other hand: it was playing with the hem of her jumper—now her t-shirt—suddenly exposing the small of her back to the cool night air before the heat of his palm drove it away. And he did not linger there...

The hunger was still rumbling deep in her stomach...but there would be no time for dinner.