Private Lessons

WEEK SIX – DEALING WITH OBSTACLES

This was proving to be the Week from Hell.

At my boring temp job, one of the higher-ups started to get bored and try to think of ways to “improve things”. So naturally I was stuck with so much grunt work that I had to put my own acting projects on hold. I was seriously considering moving on to greener pastures. If you temp at one place for too long, then the chains start to tighten around your neck. If only the rent wasn’t due.

My mother called with her usual habit of taking out all of her angst on me. When was I going to grow up and be responsible? When was I going to meet a nice guy? Why wasn’t I a better housekeeper? Blah blah blah. Over the years, I have had many issues with my mother. I still have not conquered the art of not letting her words bother me. My compartmentalizing skills were fairly crappy.

Despite all of my vigorous dieting and workouts, I had gained two pounds.

And worst of all, I woke up on Friday to an unpleasant surprise. Bloody underwear and God-awful menstrual cramps. So much for any hanky panky with Mr. C. this particular Sunday. And I had been daydreaming about what I would do to him all week.

I sang an old Judy Garland love ballad in class. Not any great shakes, but I was too stressed this week to climb Mount Everest. It wasn’t bad but wasn’t great.

Mr. C’s critique: “You need to make the stakes stronger. For this character, it is life or death that you are with this man. You have some of that, but I want more.”

To be honest, I wasn’t sure I had that much to give, especially when the whole world was in a conspiracy to keep me from pursuing my career.

“Sorry, I know it was crappy,” I said sullenly in the Hot Seat. “I’m not feeling so well today.”

For a moment, Mr. C looked concerned. I was touched. But then the strictly-business teacher took over.

“We all have excuses, Miss Spencer; but the show must go on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can’t count the number of times when I’ve been on stage with colds, feeling nauseous, suffering headaches or whatever. You just have to find a way to deal, although I will admit that the human body does have a nasty way of impeding a person’s ambition.” He gave me a generous grin. “Just wait until you’re my age. Onward and upwards,” he said, dismissing me.

The rest of the class dragged on. Unfortunately, I could not really enjoy it as I had my usual third day menstrual headache. The songs all seemed fairly dull to me. Mr. C could have done a naked lap dance on me and I wouldn’t have cared. All I wanted to do was take Tylenol PM and pass out until this wretched menstrual cycle was over.

“Feel better,” Mr. C. whispered in my ear as he joined me at the coat rack, touching me on the back lightly. Did I say that I didn’t care? When he touched my back, I felt like a lonely cat desperate for more petting and affection. As usual, he had been very discreet since most of the students were congregated at the far side of the classroom, chatting.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling weakly. “I’m sorry. Female trouble.”

“Oh,” he nodded. “Glad it’s nothing serious.”

No, my period would not kill me. It just made me wish that I were dead.

He gave me a quirky sort of smile. I never thought I’d look at my idol as kind of a goof, but at that moment I did.

“Perhaps next week, we should do lunch,” he suggested.

Doing lunch. That seemed suspiciously like going one step beyond rushed explicit sexual encounters in a locked up basement.

“I’d like that,” I said with a smile.

“See you next week.”

Suddenly, the sun was shining. The birds were singing. And all was right with the world. We were going to do lunch!

“Hey, Maggie!”

It was Dawn, the key student of Mr. C’s class. The key student generally took care of administrative stuff like role call, making sure any props used were returned, et cetera. I don’t think that I had spoken two words to Dawn since I started the class so I was sort of surprised when she came up to talk to me.

“Would you like to work on a staged duet for next week?” She had already asked Mr. C permission if we could do this. He said it was okay with him if it was okay with me.

“Sure,” I smiled. It might be fun to work with somebody else for a while. I always preferred scenes to monologues. I imagined duets would be very much the same sort of thing.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I have a few things that you could look at.”

“Okay. Give me a call.”

Things seemed to be looking up a little bit, at last. I couldn’t believe how much better I felt. Mr. C’s class truly was a tonic for what ailed me.

It was when I reached the exit of the basement classroom that I saw him.

Billy.

You know how I said I had had three ex-boyfriends? Billy had been #2. To be honest, he should have been a one-night stand. He just lasted six months longer than that.

With dark curly hair, green eyes and a lightly freckled complexion, Billy was an attractive guy. What had turned me onto him in the first place was that he had seemed so mature. And he had known what to do with his lips and his hands. It wasn’t until later that I found out that he still lived with his mother and was so manic depressive that he made me look sane. After one particularly nasty fight on the telephone, I called him a “fucking psycho” and hung up on him. I thought that would be enough to cut him out of my life forever.

Guess I was wrong.

“How are you, Maggie?” he asked, putting on his lost puppy dog act, staring at me with soulful eyes.

I knew better.

“Fine.”

I was in shock to see him. Why did he have to put us through this? What the hell was he doing here?

I looked back towards the classroom nervously. Mr. C was nowhere in sight. Good.

“So...” I started awkwardly. “Are you taking a class?” If he was, it would be too good to be true. That would mean that this was only a chance meeting.

There was a long pause.

“I’m going to audit one.”

My bullshit meter was going off a mile a minute.

True, I had met Billy in one of Mr. B’s scene study classes. But it seemed that Billy was much more interested in getting into my pants than he had ever been in working on acting. I should have known right from that point on that he would prove to be nothing but trouble. But I was a sex-starved young puppy having just arrived from Texas. I didn’t know any better at the time.

“Whose class?”

“What?” he asked.

“Whose class are you auditing?” I repeated, feeling a bit like a prosecuting attorney grilling a witness.

He named another teacher of the school. I nearly accused him right then and there of being a liar. You would have to audition for that teacher’s class, and I knew Billy well enough to know that he was not disciplined enough to audition for anything. He would never be able to hold his own in that kind of an acting class. He couldn’t even hold a job.

“You look good.”

Always looks with him!

“You’ve lost weight.”

Always weight with him! First, I was too fat. Now, I supposed that he thought that I was too thin. Why was he always so fucking body conscious? Not that I cared.

Christ, I hated this! I hated who I was with him. In his eyes, I was just some stupid hick doormat that he could push around whenever he felt like it. That is until he started to get lonely. Here I was...just getting into my stride. Taking a class with Mr. C, for God’s sake! And then he had to come back from my past to haunt me. After all, he was the one that became all moody and hostile and critical, cheating on me, not returning my phone calls. And now he was here stalking me. I was sure of it!

“Well, have a good class...” I said, attempting to sound cheery as I tried to pass him.

“No, wait...”

He reached for my hand, grasping on to it tightly. Was he crying? This was just too much.

I pulled away as if he had burned me. But it was too late. Mr. C had just passed by us. He must have seen Billy clutching at my hand. He couldn’t have missed it.

I was furious. It wasn’t enough that he had to break my heart. Now he was ruining my chances with Mr. C too! I lost all patience with trying to be nice.

“I’ve got to go,” I said sharply.

He nodded, all abject like he deserved it...which he damned well did, as a matter of fact.

I left the acting school, made my way for the subway and did not look back.

That did not keep the matter from grating on me however. I had worked so hard to put that part of my life behind me. I was no longer the girl who had given her virginity to her high school sweetheart, only to be dumped by him the following week. I was not the lonely woman who would be abused and degraded by a man who couldn’t even hold a job as a doorman.

No.

I studied myself in my small mirror in the Chelsea dump that was my apartment.

I was Maggie. Miss Spencer. An actress. A singer. An artist. And I had integrity as a performer and as a person.

What I was doing now was what I had come to New York to do. If I wanted to be fucked over, I could have stayed in Texas. I thought of Mr. C and all that he had taught me. Okay, perhaps he was fucking me over too. But that was okay. I was giving him permission to do that with my eyes open. He had made no promises to me. I could live with that.

But erotic encounters aside, he had taught me that I could take pride in my work. That I did have value in the field I wanted to be in. That maybe I could make my dreams come true. Despite everything.