Page 30 of Forget About Me

The first day of rehearsal forTwo Gents, I enter the musty basement room where we’ll be working, Puck trotting obediently by my side. Lucy’s instructions click through my brain, so instead of heading straight for the table in the center of the space, I make an abrupt turn to the right. Puck’s shoulder brushes my leg before he adjusts. He matches my pace as we walk the perimeter of the room. When I stop without warning, he stops and sits.

“Good boy!” I say as softly as I can and slip him a treat. I point to the floor, and use a low, firm voice. “Down.” Puck grunts but complies. I praise him again, tossing him another treat. Saying, “Let’s go,” I zig-zag back to the other end of the room, trying to throw him off with random changes of direction. By the time we get to the table, we’ve attracted some attention. I stop, Puck sits, and our audience bursts into applause. Puck lets out a sharp bark but when I shoot him a look, he grunts and lies down.

Nick leans back in his chair at the head of the table. “Who is responsible for this?”

“An old family friend.” Lucy isn’t a family friend; she’smyfriend, my ex… what? Girlfriend no one knew about? Secret forbidden lover? My inability to attach a label to the relationship makes me feel a little better about the fib.

“Either the pair of you are either very good students or he’s an excellent trainer.”

“She—the trainer’s a she—it’s all on her. And this little guy.” I scratch Puck behind the ears. “He’s very trainable, she says. I’m the problem student.”

I’m not being modest. My initial attempts to replicate Lucy's ease with Puck were a complete failure. The dog just stared at me like I was an idiot.

Nick crosses his arms behind his head. “My imagination is already turning up all sorts of ideas for comic bits. Do you think she’d been able to teach the animal to perform specific actions?”

“We’ve talked about that. Right now I’m using verbal cues and giving him treats. But she says if I work hard, we can progress to visual cues, or even to habitual training. Like how he sits now when I stop?” I indicate my new shadow. “We could choreograph some of that into the blocking.”

Nick nods slowly, obviously mulling over possibilities, before speaking to the stage manager, who gives us a five-minute warning. Actors and designers gathered by the refreshment table begin to find seats at the two long tables set up end to end with packets at each place. I’m not sure what to do with Puck, but when Bella waves me over, she points at a seat next to her.

“Puck gets a chair, too.” When he hops into it, she asks, “Is it okay if I pet him?”

“Yeah, Lucy—that’s the trainer we’re working with—said that he should get lots of experience with everyone in the show. It may be that you’ll end up giving him commands too.”

As I take my own seat, Bella makes some sort of baby talk nonsense while scratching under Puck’s chin.

Reading over the schedule in my packet, I realize I should confirm one more time that I need to be back in Los Angeles for a shoot two days after the show’s closing date.R&Jwas extended twice due to its popularity. I can’t afford for that to happen this time. Getting up, I tell Puck to stay out of habit.

It’s strange to think that just a couple weeks ago, I didn’t have him in my life. It feels like he’s always been there.

A few minutes later, we go around the table and everyone introduces themselves. Lots of familiar faces. Will and Randall have the male leads Proteus and Valentine. Jessica—my Juliet—plays female lead Sylvia. It’s pretty amazing that none of the actors harbor ill will toward me, despite the chaos that my presence caused at first. Once the house manager started making a pre-show announcement warning that disruptive audience members would be removed from their seats, but promising that actors would be available to sign programs after the show, the catcalls fell off. Despite the fact that I was always the one with the longest line for autographs, no one seems to mind. They probably get that the crazy fans are all about my bare chest rather than my acting chops. I rub the two-day-old scruff on my cheeks, hoping that this role will allow me to disappear a bit more.

After the introductions, Nick and the designers talk a bit about the concept. The play will be set in San Diego during the Vietnam War rather than sixteenth-century Milan. Many of the characters will be Naval officers or young recruits. My character, Launce, is a crusty Marine.

As we read through the play, my mind drifts to time spent with Lucy the past two weeks. She has every right to be wary of me. Each day, I dig deep for the courage to tell her all the reasons why I left town without explanation. Selfishly, I want more time with her, even if that time’s spent in agony, wanting to touch her, to kiss her, to make love to her again. The likelihood of any of those things happening is very low, whether I tell her the whole truth or not.

Then my mind finds its way back to a day that started horribly but ended as sweet as anything I can imagine.

Loud banging jerks me out of a deep sleep. I sit up, disoriented. It’s twilight, not the middle of the night. I’m on the couch. Must have fallen asleep.

The knocking doesn’t quit, so I heave myself off the couch and to the front door of my apartment. When I haul it open, Lucy falls into my arms, sobbing.

Now fully awake, I remember the poor dog we saw get hit by a car this morning. My arm around her, I ease her to the couch and let her cry into my shoulder until all that’s left are a few hiccups. I grab a napkin off a pizza box and offer it to her.

After noisily blowing her nose, she hiccups again. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is hoarse.

I shift away slightly so I can see her face. “I take it that he didn’t survive?”

She shakes her head. A sob shudders through her. “How will I ever be able to be a veterinarian? This hurts so much.”

I squeeze her shoulders. “Maybe it’s something you just get used to? Plus it’s not like you’re going to witness the accident like we did. I still can’t believe that car just kept going.” And I’m still pissed I didn’t think fast enough to get the license plate.

“I just keep wondering if he would’ve survived if I’d known what to do right away.” The pain in her voice slices through me.

“Did you talk to Dr., uh…” I can’t remember the older vet’s name, the one that came running out after I dashed in to let them know we had an injured animal in the van.

She shudders out a breath. “Dr. Fields. Yeah. He called me to let me know. He was great. He said you do grieve, but it gets easier. That sometimes the best you can do is give the animal a good exit, which is better than we do for people most of the time.”

I rub her thigh. “If we hadn’t been there, who knows how long it would’ve been before someone did something.”

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