"Now then, I'll read Horace. I'd like you to be as relaxed and natural as possible, Rain. Read it as if I wasn't even here, understand?"
"Yes, I do," I said.
He handed me the script and I looked over the first page. It was a love scene.
"Anything wrong?" he asked when I hesitated. "What? No."
"Good. Let's begin. Pretend we're seated just like this on the stage, in her living room, early evening" He sipped his wine, put the glass on the table, and sat forward. It was immediately obvious that he had memorized his part.
"What play is this?" I asked, quickly reading some of it to myself. I thought it was really bad.
"Love Undone," he replied. "The playwright is the rage of London these days. We're lucky to have the rights to it and anyone who gets a decent part will make an impression quickly on the theater
community."
He paused and leaned toward me again, his hand over his mouth as if there were other people in the room from whom he was trying to hide his words.
"You have to decide how much of what he says is real and how much is hype. This takes experience," he added and sat back. "So, shall we start? Wait," he interrupted, "it's too bright in here. Not at all as it would be on the stage."
He got up and closed all the curtains tightly. Then he sat again and nodded.
"Any time you're ready," he said.
"Ready?"
"To read. Go on," he directed, flicking his right hand at me.
"Oh. All right." I began. "Horace, I wish you hadn't come here tonight. You know how I feel about our relationship."
"I know how you think you feel," he said, moving closer to me on the settee. Then, before I knew what to expect, he had his fingers under my chin and was looking deep into my eyes. It was strange to be so close to him.
"Our ages are just accidents of birth," he continued, still holding my chin. "We can't let time stand like a wall between us."
I pulled back a bit.
"But Horace, your daughter and I are best friends. It would break her heart."
"It's not her heart I'm concerned with now," he followed, inching closer to me again. "You're doing very well, Rain," he added sotto voce, "but try to look at me when you speak and show me how you are saying one thing, but feeling another. Go on, try it," he directed.
"I can't do this, Horace," I read, gazing up at him quickly. He stared at me.
"Your eyes tell me otherwise, Constance, and so do your lips," he said, seizing my shoulders and turning me so roughly, the pages flew from my hand. Then he slapped his lips against mine, pressing so hard, I lost my breath. With his mouth still on mine, he dropped his hand to lower the zipper on my dress even farther. Then he pulled back, taking the dress down with his small retreat.
I was too shocked and stunned to move, even utter a sound.
"You're beautiful, Rain. Just as I'd hoped. I'll make you a star. We'll blaze your name across the lights of London. Trust me," he said and leaned forward to kiss my neck.
I slipped out from under him and jumped up from the settee.
"What are you doing?" I cried, pulling the dress back up.
The lustful look in his eyes evaporated instantly and was quickly replaced with the stern, fatherly expression he had shown me before.
"Good," he said. "That's what I hoped you would do, but you're still in some danger here. We'll start again, and I'll show you another way this could begin. Repair yourself while I go back outside. I'll press the doorbell again," he said rising.
"No!" I cried the moment he opened the door. "I can't do this. I don't want to do this," I said and charged by him when he turned with surprise.
I ran from the cottage.