Read Online Master Me by Trina Lane, Lisabet Sarai, Elizabeth Coldwell - Free Book Online Page B
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Adele’s distress, but this was the sort of break every actress dreamt about. If I managed to do well, I had a chance to be noticed by people who made a difference. I might even have some hope for a New York gig in the fall.
You’ve got to pay attention, I told myself sternly. Dig down and feel the part, the way you were taught. No mooning over your master.
Nevertheless, when I got to the playhouse and saw him wearing Stanley’s tight jeans and dirty tee shirt, my heart did a little flip. He gave me one of his million-dollar smiles.
“Sarah! Thank God!” The unflappable Arthur looked unusually harried. “Do you know Stella’s lines?”
“Of course. That’s my job.” For the first time, I felt proud to be the understudy.
“Great! Let’s start at the first scene then. Clarissa’s going to take over as Eunice. Jill will play the nurse.”
I stepped behind the set, into the “interior” of the Kowalski’s apartment. Geoff strutted on stage.
“Hey there! Stella, Baby!”
* * * *
The rehearsal went like clockwork. My excitement had subsided to a pleasant buzz, leaving me clear-headed and confident. Arthur congratulated us all around and gave us the afternoon off. I decided to walk the two miles to Lake Mansfield. I wanted to be alone, to settle my thoughts and prepare myself for the night to come.
I sat on the grass at the edge of the woods, knees to my chest, watching the kids jump from the raft into the rust-coloured water. The hum of honeybees mingled with their glad cries. A warm breeze ruffled my skirt and teased my bare pussy. July was almost over. Only a month or so left of the season.
Then what? I’d always been a planner, setting out the alternatives, weighing the pros and cons. Now I had no idea what lay ahead. I couldn’t imagine living without Geoff—yet I knew I’d probably have to give him up. Maybe he’d call me occasionally, when he got bored, and invite me to come play.
It wasn’t a game for me. I was sure now. I loved him. He’d claimed me and now I was his, body, mind, and soul—whether he cared or not.
I thought back to our times together. I’d become so much more open, more trusting, under his tutoring. Relax, he’d tell me, as he beat me or fucked me. Don’t fight it. Just let go.
That’s all I could do, I realised. Let go and see what happens. I couldn’t control him. I could scarcely control myself. All I could do was trust and hope for the best.
* * * *
I huddled inside the set, on the darkened stage. Clarissa and Hatty crouched on the steps below. The house lights went down. The murmuring of the audience died away. Strains of honky-tonk piano filtered through the air, falsely cheerful.
The curtain rose. The spotlight hit the set.
My rough, tender Stanley sauntered on stage, calling my name.
I came to him, drawn by love and animal passion, finding his crudeness thrilling after the pale refinement of my youth at Belle Reve. I tried to protect my sister from his insults and his rage, but what could I do? Ultimately, I belonged to him.
Near the end of Scene Three, Stanley hit me in a drunken rage and I ran upstairs to shelter with Eunice. But he called me, bellowing for his Stella, his baby, and what could I do but come down, into his arms, and let him bear me away?
There was an intermission after Scene Three. Geoffrey carried me backstage and kissed me deeply. My heart slammed against my ribs. He tasted like whisky and smelt like sweat. “That was great, baby,” he murmured, nuzzling my throat. “You’re fantastic.”
I kissed him back, high on his touch and the applause. “We’re fantastic,” I replied.
* * * *
Two minutes to curtain. Scene Four opens with Stella and Blanche inside the apartment. I peered between the heavy layers of velvet, checking out the audience.
The house lights were still on. Every seat was occupied, even the ones way in the back behind the support pillars. My simmering excitement ratcheted up a notch. This was everything
You’ve got to pay attention, I told myself sternly. Dig down and feel the part, the way you were taught. No mooning over your master.
Nevertheless, when I got to the playhouse and saw him wearing Stanley’s tight jeans and dirty tee shirt, my heart did a little flip. He gave me one of his million-dollar smiles.
“Sarah! Thank God!” The unflappable Arthur looked unusually harried. “Do you know Stella’s lines?”
“Of course. That’s my job.” For the first time, I felt proud to be the understudy.
“Great! Let’s start at the first scene then. Clarissa’s going to take over as Eunice. Jill will play the nurse.”
I stepped behind the set, into the “interior” of the Kowalski’s apartment. Geoff strutted on stage.
“Hey there! Stella, Baby!”
* * * *
The rehearsal went like clockwork. My excitement had subsided to a pleasant buzz, leaving me clear-headed and confident. Arthur congratulated us all around and gave us the afternoon off. I decided to walk the two miles to Lake Mansfield. I wanted to be alone, to settle my thoughts and prepare myself for the night to come.
I sat on the grass at the edge of the woods, knees to my chest, watching the kids jump from the raft into the rust-coloured water. The hum of honeybees mingled with their glad cries. A warm breeze ruffled my skirt and teased my bare pussy. July was almost over. Only a month or so left of the season.
Then what? I’d always been a planner, setting out the alternatives, weighing the pros and cons. Now I had no idea what lay ahead. I couldn’t imagine living without Geoff—yet I knew I’d probably have to give him up. Maybe he’d call me occasionally, when he got bored, and invite me to come play.
It wasn’t a game for me. I was sure now. I loved him. He’d claimed me and now I was his, body, mind, and soul—whether he cared or not.
I thought back to our times together. I’d become so much more open, more trusting, under his tutoring. Relax, he’d tell me, as he beat me or fucked me. Don’t fight it. Just let go.
That’s all I could do, I realised. Let go and see what happens. I couldn’t control him. I could scarcely control myself. All I could do was trust and hope for the best.
* * * *
I huddled inside the set, on the darkened stage. Clarissa and Hatty crouched on the steps below. The house lights went down. The murmuring of the audience died away. Strains of honky-tonk piano filtered through the air, falsely cheerful.
The curtain rose. The spotlight hit the set.
My rough, tender Stanley sauntered on stage, calling my name.
I came to him, drawn by love and animal passion, finding his crudeness thrilling after the pale refinement of my youth at Belle Reve. I tried to protect my sister from his insults and his rage, but what could I do? Ultimately, I belonged to him.
Near the end of Scene Three, Stanley hit me in a drunken rage and I ran upstairs to shelter with Eunice. But he called me, bellowing for his Stella, his baby, and what could I do but come down, into his arms, and let him bear me away?
There was an intermission after Scene Three. Geoffrey carried me backstage and kissed me deeply. My heart slammed against my ribs. He tasted like whisky and smelt like sweat. “That was great, baby,” he murmured, nuzzling my throat. “You’re fantastic.”
I kissed him back, high on his touch and the applause. “We’re fantastic,” I replied.
* * * *
Two minutes to curtain. Scene Four opens with Stella and Blanche inside the apartment. I peered between the heavy layers of velvet, checking out the audience.
The house lights were still on. Every seat was occupied, even the ones way in the back behind the support pillars. My simmering excitement ratcheted up a notch. This was everything
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