Page 51 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“Is it always a high when it’s over?”
“No, but elation and relief are good at disguising the melancholy.” Mike thanks a few more guests before turning back to me. “Thanks for coming, I mean it.”
“If I knew this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have come.”
“‘I thank you for your pains.’”
The dripping sincerity he’s woven into that line makes me blink twice. I excuse myself while Mike finishes making therounds. When he returns to my side, I ask, “Do you prefer directing to acting?”
“It’s different. They cross-pollinate each other. You ready?” He ushers me through a set of doors and down a flight of stairs.
“Where are we going?” I ask when we’re outside. No fear colors my words, just mild annoyance that I can’t navigate this place the way he can. If we were at either of my alma maters, things would be different.
“The library. I want to show you something.”
“Oh my gosh. Did you find the early-reader section? Have you finally learned how to read?”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “Not just read. Come on.” He holds the door open for me.
We walk past stacks of periodicals. “Do they still archive papers?” I ask. “I thought everything was digital now.”
“Not everything, which is why I want to show you where these are.”
“Believe it or not, I have better things to do than read yesterday’s news.”
“Not news.” Mike pauses in front of an empty circulation desk. He glides a single hand across the wood.
And I’m proud to say that I do not ogle his wrists or the fact that there are no rings, not a single one, on his fingers.
“Am I supposed to pretend that I see your imaginary friends? Because it’s rude to just start up conversations without being introduced.”
He chuckles. “You’re a lawyer, Bea. You live and breathe rude.”
I puff out my chest. “Not anymore.”
“You can’t fool me. There are two types of lawyers—miscreants and bookworms.”
“And then there are the miscreants who are bookworms. Which am I, Mike?”
He looks me up and down for a heartbeat, like he’s trying to figure that out. “I could turn you loose on the wilds of the internet, where you would search like a madwoman down every rabbit hole for recordings of my old campus productions. But the best you’ll find is a grainy two-minute clip of the curtain call forTwelfth Night. However, if you come back here”—he taps the desk—“during regular hours, you can check out DVD recordings of all my work.”
I snort. “Who’s the miscreant now?” I take a step closer. “Where does it come from? All that arrogance.”
“Arrogance? No. I take thee for pity, and while some heartless, February-faced reprobates require years of rehabilitation before they can tap into their empathy, I have higher hopes for you.”
“I’m not heartless.”
“Anyone who watches that many old episodes ofStarship Cruiserhas to be.”
“How did you—”
“I can hear it playing every evening. Broaden your horizons. Try something new.”
“I’m not new to Shakespeare.”
“Prove it.”
Gladly. “You’ve been practicing your lines on me all evening. Thanking me for my pains, I take thee for pity, February face… And while the irony is not lost on me, Beatrice, and you, Mr. Benedick, forgive me for not being impressed.”
