Page 50 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“You want to meet him?”
“I’d love to!” I crane my neck to find the man in the dark suit who announced the reception.
“Mike!” the woman shouts. “You’ve got a fan. She wants to hear all about your directorial brilliance.”
Chapter 17
Mike’s smile falters when he sees me. I, of course, turn bright red. He sets down his white wine, thanks Lady Macbeth, and directs her toward a group of chittering grandmas.
He extends his hand to me as if we’ve never met, as if I’m a complete stranger and not his cottage squatter, and greets me like I’m someone important, a critic from LA, an entertainment reporter from theUnion-Tribune. While his demeanor is that of a consummate professional, his words are anything but.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you heckling me from the front row. If you came here looking for rotten fruit to throw, you’re fresh out of luck.”
“Oh, you know me.” It’s my turn to smirk. “I’m always looking for a quiet place to read uninterrupted. I figured your show was a safe bet.”
“The house was packed.”
“With comatose bodies.”
“Who have all reanimated and are eager to talk to everyone in the production?”
“Free food and cheap booze can do that. You know, I was curious why Malcolm’s monologue wasn’t cut from the production, seeing as how it is such boring, low-hanging fruit. But now that I know you’re the director, it all makes sense. You weren’t about to cut your own lines.”
Mike’s smile is dazzling. Not because of his teeth—which are nice and white—but because of how his eyes become part of it. “Have you been to the library here on campus?”
“What? No. UCLA and Berkeley, remember?”
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“And abandon your guests? Every one of them is related to you somehow, right?”
“So scared. Fine. I can wait.” He leaves my side to go mingle.
And I hate him for it.
The gentleman in the black suit approaches me with a friendly smile. “I see you were talking with Mike Benedick.” He offers me a glass of wine, which I politely accept even though I have no intention of drinking it. I don’t need to feel any more flustered than I already do.
“Yeah, a bit unusual for an undergrad to direct campus productions,” I say, twisting the glass in my hand.
“Oh, so you know your department history? I’m impressed. Mike never shares that he started doing this three years ago.”
Three years ago? I nearly drop my glass. “Right. Because this obviously isn’t his first directorial rodeo. That was, um, oh, whycan’t I keep my Shakespeare straight? The first play he directed was…”
“Twelfth night.” The man gestures to a still on the wall. “Quite the senior project to direct and star. Mike, of course, was more than capable. We begged him to take the role of Macbeth last April, but he had a different vision. And he said he needed to keep his character light forMuch Adolater this fall.”
TheStarship Cruisermeme flashes in my mind at the possibility of seeing more of Mike onstage. I swirl the wine in my glass, trying to mask my lack of internal chill. “He’s directing that one as well?”
“No. Starring role and finishing his thesis are enough for him. And, of course, there is still the matter of that dissertation that hangs as an unanswered question in all our minds.”
Thesis…dissertation? Oh my stars. “Mike’s a grad student—”
“The most promising we’ve seen in generations. But you must think so too. Why else would you come to seeMacbethtwice?”
Before I can ask who this man is, he excuses himself to go talk to some other guests.
I ditch my glass of wine for a bottle of water and an excuse to wander over to Mike. “You paid them all, didn’t you? This reception is nothing more than an elaborate set piece.”
“Elaborate and expensive.” Mike sighs. “This is good. Your venom is a good contrast to the high of a show ending.”
