The actress was already on the platform when Celia came in.
No curtains. No cabinet. No flowers. Celia had taken all of that out during rehearsal. The table was bare except for a glass of water.
Five men sat in the first row with slips of paper folded in their hands.
The assistant director met Celia at the back of the house.
“She still wants the subject.”
“No.”
“She says she can’t give you anything if she doesn’t know what she’s giving.”
“That’s the point.”
Onstage, the actress looked toward them.
“Are we waiting?”
Celia walked down the aisle.
“For me.”
She stopped beside the first row.
The actress looked at the five men.
“You’ve picked it?”
One of them nodded.
“You showed her?”
“No.”
“Anyone tell her?”
“No.”
Celia held out her hand.
The man gave her the folded paper.
She did not open it.
She handed it to the assistant director.
“Take it outside.”
The actress laughed once.
“That seems excessive.”
“It should.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
The assistant director went through the side door.
Celia sat in the empty chair at the end of the first row.
“All right.”
The actress looked at the bare table.
Nothing happened.
Then she picked up the water and drank.
Celia watched her put the glass down.
“You’re waiting for it.”
“I am waiting for it.”
“No. You’re showing us that you’re waiting for it.”
The actress looked at her.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s useful.”
“It is.”
The actress got up from the chair.
“I don’t believe this woman talked to dead people.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then what are we doing?”
Celia looked at the table.
“We know she stood in rooms like this.”
“Yes.”
“We know people gave her subjects she said she hadn’t seen.”
“Yes.”
“We know she spoke.”
“Yes.”
“That’s enough.”
“For you.”
“For the picture.”
The actress folded her arms.
“You want me to pretend the words come from somewhere else.”
“No.”
“What then?”
Celia thought about it.
“I want you not to get there first.”
The actress looked at her.
Celia stood.
“Again.”
The assistant director came back in.
“Same subject?”
“No. New one.”
He distributed the slips.
The five men wrote again.
He collected them.
This time Celia walked onto the stage and stood behind the actress.
The actress glanced back.
“You staying?”
“For a minute.”
The papers were folded. One was chosen.
The assistant director took it outside.
Celia moved the water glass two inches to the left.
“That matter?”
“No.”
“Then why did you move it?”
“You were looking at it.”
The actress smiled.
“Director.”
Celia smiled back.
“Actress.”
Celia went back to the first row.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
The actress closed her eyes.
“Don’t.”
Her eyes opened.
“What now?”
“You just prepared for something to arrive.”
“I have to do something.”
“No. Something has to happen.”
The actress stared at her.
“That’s not direction.”
“No.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you when I know.”
They tried again.
And again.
By the sixth attempt the five men had stopped looking interested.
That helped.
The actress sat differently now. Irritated, perhaps. Tired of being watched.
The assistant director came in and stood against the side wall.
He had the subject.
The actress did not look at him.
She looked at one of the men in the front row.
Then something changed.
Very little.
Her head tipped, as though she had heard something behind him.
She began speaking.
Celia did not move.
The first sentence was ordinary.
By the second, something had changed.
By the fourth, the room had.
One of the men uncrossed his legs.
Another leaned forward.
The actress stopped.
Silence.
She looked at Celia.
“Well?”
Celia waited.
The actress looked annoyed.
“That’s all?”
“What happened before the second sentence?”
“I don’t know.”
“You looked surprised.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
The actress looked toward the assistant director.
“What was the subject?”
He unfolded the paper.
Celia raised a hand.
“Don’t tell her.”
The actress turned.
“Why?”
“Because we’re doing it again tomorrow.”
“I might like to know what I just talked about.”
“You can know tomorrow.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
The men began gathering their coats.
The actress got off the platform.
One of them stopped beside Celia.
“She must have known.”
Celia looked at him.
“She didn’t.”
He smiled politely.
“Of course.”
He left.
The actress had heard him.
“That’s the picture, isn’t it?”
Celia looked toward the door.
“What?”
“If it works, they say I knew.”
Celia looked at her.
“And if it doesn’t?”
“I’m a fraud.”
Celia smiled.
“Now you know the part.”
The assistant director was still holding the folded paper.
“Can I throw this away?”
Celia looked at it.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She took it from him and put it in her pocket.
The stage was empty now except for the chair, the table and the glass of water.
Celia went up and moved the glass back where it had been.
WE&P by: EZorrillaMc&Co.
Source note: Historical details that helped seed this scene were found in Emily Midorikawa, Out of the Shadows: Six Visionary Victorian Women in Search of a Public Voice.
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