The teacher nodded. ‘Page forty-nine,’ he said. ‘Look, Cade, why don’t you come up here and try a few lines for us?’

A murmur ran through the classroom and Shannon smiled as Cade’s blush deepened. The game’s up, Mr. Morgan, she thought. Your name and your fame got you into this class; well, now it’s time to ante up or fold your hand.

‘I’m not really ready...’

‘No one is ever really ready the first time. But we’ve got to start somewhere, and you did say you needed to make rapid progress.’

Shannon glanced at Cade out of the corner of her eye. The ru

sh of color had faded from his face, to be re­placed by a pale mask. She could see a muscle knotting in his jaw. He turned suddenly, his indigo eyes locking with hers, and her smile faltered.

There was fear in his gaze but there was something more—a question, perhaps? She turned away sharply and after a second, she heard him draw a deep breath.

‘What the hell,’ he murmured, and got to his feet. ‘I need more than rapid progress,’ he said aloud. ‘I need to be an Olivier by tomorrow, Eli. Maybe the play we should be studying is The Miracle Worker.’

The class laughed politely as he threaded his way to the front of the room. Cade shook hands with the actor who had been playing the scene and then straddled the ' stool the man vacated. The actress seated opposite him smiled, only the rose overlay on her pale cheeks hinting at the fact that she was excited at the prospect of doing this scene with Cade Morgan.

‘You said you were familiar with Streetcar, didn’t you?’

Cade cleared his throat and looked up at Eli. ‘Right. Actually, I know it pretty well. I had the Kowalski role in my senior year in high school.’

Shannon laughed softly. Cade looked up, his eyes narrowing as they searched the small room. She looked down as his glance met hers. Don’t look to me for pity, she thought grimly. Try somebody else.

When she raised her head, he was staring at his script. She knew what he must be feeling. Even the profession’s established names trembled when they read before Eli..

‘Are you ready?’ Cade asked the girl next to him in a soft voice. She nodded and he took a deep breath. ‘Then, let’s do it,’ he said.

He bent his head while the actress launched into her opening lines, his hands holding the script in a white- knuckled grip. A faint sheen of dampness gleamed under the lock of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead. Shannon sat forward, waiting for his first line, praying that his husky voice would emerge as the squeak of a frightened mouse.

The girl playing Blanche was good. She’d caught the character’s fragility. Cade was watching her as if she held the key to the mysteries of the universe. The self-assured master of the stage had disappeared. In his place was a man with an ashen cast to his skin and a tremor in his fingers.

God, he really was frightened. The pages of the script were vibrating in his hands. Despite herself, Shannon felt a faint stirring of compassion. She could still recall how terrified she’d felt the first time she’d sat up at the front of this room, facing all those impersonal faces, wanting desperately to succeed and yet certain she was going to fail.

It was almost time for Cade’s cue. Shannon saw his chest rise as he took a deep breath; then he forced his eyes from the girl and scanned the room slowly. His glance fell upon the instructor, but Eli’s expression was masked, as it always was. Shannon knew what he was doing; she’d done it herself when a part was particularly rough. He was looking for a friendly face, for someone to connect with before the scene opened before him like an abyss and drew him under.

Eli won’t help you, she thought. He’s the great stone face.

As if he’d heard the message, Cade’s gaze moved on, sliding from person to person. At last, he looked at her. For a heartbeat, she thought he was going to ignore her, and then those indigo eyes fastened on hers. There seemed to be a dozen different messages in their depths: fear and hope and some kind of plea, and suddenly something within her thawed.

Don’t be so frightened, she wanted to say. You could have skipped all this, after all. Crawford’s already given you the part. It takes courage to do what you’re doing, Cade. I have to give you that much.

His eyes read hers one last time and then he looked at the actress opposite him. His first line was delivered slowly, a bit unsteadily, but his voice gained strength as he spoke Tennessee Williams’ powerful words…

And then, as if by magic, Cade Morgan was gone and Stanley Kowalski, crude, almost obscenely masculine, was there in his place.

Yes, Shannon thought, yes, that’s the way. She hitched forward in her seat. She had seen at least a dozen Stanley Kowalskis during the past few years, of them right here in this room. Streetcar was a play everybody liked to do; it had been done to death, and so had this part.

But Cade’s Stanley was not the stereotype she had seen so many times.

There was crudeness there, yes, but there was also a cruelty, a deliberate awareness of Blanche’s fragility, a determination to sully something simply because the Stanley Kowalskis of this world have to destroy whatever they can’t understand.

Cade spoke his final lines, the girl playing Blanche responded, and then there was silence. The instructor walked slowly to the center of the room and cleared his throat.

‘Well,’ he said finally, pursing his lips. ‘That was in­teresting. Very interesting.’

Cade’s smile was tentative. ‘That’s what I usually say when I’ve got to tell somebody auditioning for me that I think they’re lousy,’ he said with a deliberate attempt at lightness.

The teacher smiled. ‘I’m afraid you’ll find we’re much more direct than that. If a performance is poor, we say so.’

Tags: Sandra Marton Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net