The Act

"Cut! That's it. That's the one we're using."

"Wait. That's it?"

"That's the one." Bernavides repeated, not taking his eyes off the pair.

"But that was just the first take, you're sure you don't want to run it one more time?"

"No. That's the one. Make sure nothing happens to that role." The director instructed, heading towards his trailer, leather notebook in hand.

Ava stared as the director walked away knowing he had seen them.

He had seen Reginald and Ava in places where Emolee Beck and Dr. Caster should have been.

She felt embarrassed, exposed, and walked away from the set just as swiftly as he had. Displaying what came across to Reginald as disgust, as anger, and the reason for his current apology.

"Hi Ava. I want to apologize for what happened earlier. I've only done about five sex scenes my whole acting career and that has never happened before. Never. I promise." He stammered, placing his mustard fedora over his heart.

"I've been thinking...maybe...there were larger crews on the other sets...so many people coming in and out, camera shifting angles, directors calling out commands, a bit of chaos really, it was easy to stay present, to not lose oneself in the moment. But this was much smaller, and everyone here is so professional, the set was so quiet, it was so well done I guess...I think perhaps it was too intimate." He rushed, drawing in some air as he glanced up for any sign of approval.

Ava stared back unflinching. She did not nod in agreement, or scowl in disgust, she neither provided forgiveness nor disapproval, no half smile or visible frown could be traced across her pale face. It was obvious that the make-up artist had just removed any trace of rosiness from her cheeks.

Her face seemed a bit puffy and yet all the more beautiful to him. He looked over her lips which now appeared frail and thin, different from what he was typically attracted to. Yet he couldn't help imagine what it would be like to kiss her here, far away from her character.

"So perhaps we need a larger crew?" she asked, finally breaking her sternness with a smile.

Reginald chuckled, relieved she was making light of the situation.

"Perhaps." He repeated.

"Don't worry about it. It's normal. I've done more sex scenes than I can count and you aren't the first man to lose himself." 

"Oh wow. Well I apologize on behalf of all of us then. It's very unprofessional."

"It's also biological." she said, in her South African accent. Composed, unbothered just like her character.

"I guess." Reginald agreed, "But it's biological for women as well and you all seem to keep it together."

"We are more internal creatures." she said walking towards her vanity and leaning against her chair. "What we reveal is what we have chosen to reveal."

"That is," he said, drawing in a deep breath, "a very big advantage."

"A small, gentle aid for a gender who holds so few." 

He smiled. His hooded eyes so brilliant it caused her to smile back, holding him in her gaze with the indication that there was something else brewing just beneath her skin.

He stared back. 

He wanted to touch her. Wanted to tuck the loose strands of hair behind her ear as he had rehearsed in dozens of other scenes, on far away sets, with actresses he barely knew. 

He stared at her in this way long enough to allow time to pass between them. When he finally realized he had not yet replied to her last comment he felt pressured. Wanting to assume responsibility for the silence that now hung between them. It was his to fill, Ava did not seem to notice as she stared back, lost in her own thoughts.

He wondered what her stare meant, why her gaze was fixed on his lips. He wanted to take it as an invitation, as her approval for him to draw closer, to kiss her, to hold her. But he could not impose himself on her after what had just happened on set.

He had come in to apologize for his last embarrassing infraction and here he was about to make another. He couldn't kiss her. Not unless she made the first move. She had to say something, move towards him, anything, but Ava did nothing.

All he had were his speculations so dipped in his own desires he couldn't trust them. One wrong assumption, one mistaken invitation and he would be without a job. Without a career. No one would believe him. Not only was he a man, he was a Black man, an imposing Black man, making assumptions about a white woman who was older than him, richer than him, with more Broadway productions than he had commercials. It was foolish of him to even consider the risk.

Yet, he could not also remain in her presence. He was smart to know not to kiss her. But not steeled enough to withstand the temptation. He had to get out of the room. He felt as though she would smother him with this hanging silence, like she could suffocate him simply by holding her own breath.

"Well thank you for understanding." He said, finally. "I wanted to recognize that what I did was wrong. I'm truly very sorry, it was and is unacceptable, and it will never happen again. That was so amateur, so unprofessional of me. Truly. Would you like for me to report it to HR?" He asked. Not having thought of that possibility beforehand.

"No, thank you. That won't be necessary." she said with a simple nod. "As I said, some things are just natural."

Reginald nodded as well. Placing his hat back on his head before snatching it back immediately. "Oops, still in the room." he whispered to himself, turning around to face the door.

She chuckled softly. He was odd. An old 1950's gentleman tucked inside a 30 something year old's body. She found it sweet, humorous at times. She wanted to make a mention of it now but she knew she would be striking stones, lighting up a conversation that was already dimming. She had to let it fade out. It was bad enough that she had explored his face for so long, bad enough that she knew exactly why he had "forgotten himself".

She had taught herself how to suppress herself during any sex scene. She knew how to kiss to make her cheeks appear dramatic though her tongue remained in place. How to position the motion of her body so that it was always her inner thighs that rubbed against her opposing actor. She was experienced. Twenty-seven years of acting had allowed her to perfect the resemblance of passion. Yet, with Reginald, she had betrayed every lesson.

She had allowed her tongue to slip out of her mouth into his, had pressed her body so tightly against his own it was difficult for him to keep space. She had allowed herself to feel him, to kiss him as though no one else was in the room. She now remembered how the director had stared at the two of them. The coaches did not seem to notice but he had stared at them in awe.

"That's the one." He had said. Words she now repeated over and over in her mind.

She wanted to apologize to Reginald. Inform him of her own contributions to the mutual arousal, but she couldn't. She had more to risk than he. As a veteran of the screen she could not risk the scandal, the humiliation. She was a white woman, eleven years his senior, with too much privilege and not enough power to make such a mistake. Exposing herself to some young up-and-coming actor who could easily sell his story for a spread in a second-rate magazine was unheard of.

She wouldn't allow herself to do it. 

Like him, she had to let go.

Reginald turned around desperate to escape her invisible pull. He placed his hand on the silver slot to open the door when she called out his name.

"Reg." she said with the hanging tone of a question. "Our next scene will be by a lake, outside, recorded by a much larger crew...what will you tell yourself then?"

Reginald felt his ears grow warm. He stood there, pressed against the door, but now Ava was close enough to touch. Reginald shook his head slowly, his eyes still scanning the floor. He felt her fingers grab his forearm. Her hand was cold, soft, her thin fingers slightly pressed against his skin sending electric waves down his body. She turned him away from the door so that he could face her.

The desire to press himself against her frame, to draw her mouth to his was consuming. He leaned in. Placed his hand above her head and looked down on her close enough to feel her breath on his chest.

But they were not on set. They were in her trailer of all places. And he was hovering over his esteemed colleague, in her personal trailer, after hours. He could read the headlines as though he had written them himself. He imagined the anger his father would display after his countless warnings. He could predict his mother's shame even as she tried to believe his side of the story. He had to restrain himself.

"Hmm?" She asked, tilting her head up just enough to meet his eyes. Her lips close enough to his chin she could have kissed him with just a little strain.

"I'll tell myself that you're married." Reginald answered, clearing his throat.

He pulled away from her and leaned against his own wall; staring back at her as resolve settled over his face. 

Now it was Ava who lowered her gaze, shame settling in as it first did when the director had seen through them.

"How poetic..." she said, shaking her head as if scolding herself, "characters within characters."

"Is that what you'll tell yourself?"

"I don't have to tell myself anything." She said, stiffening her back. "I don't feel anything."

"Hmph," Reginald replied with a hint of annoyance, "I see the actress doesn't fall far from her character. Emolee lies about her passions for Dr. Caster all the time."

"Emolee is a complex character with more internal chaos than what is useful. She has far too many strings attached to her, each pulling in a multitude of directions. Luckily for me I don't suffer her state." Ava snipped.

"A complex woman, with more than one string attached to her heart? Sounds rather similar if not identical." Reginald countered.

"Oh don't flatter yourself. My heart suffers no strings."

"Wrong answer, Mrs. Ava Connelly." Reginald corrected drawing nearer to her. "A married woman would have one string. Your heart should have one string." He repeated, placing the tip of his index finger over her chest as if to help indicate where it would be. The mere tap flared goosebumps across her chest in instant ripples, causing Reginald to notice.

"Perhaps women are not as internal as you would hope." He whispered near her ear, allowing the softness of his lips to gently graze her skin. "Perhaps they, too, display signs -it seems harsh words or prickled skin can be just as telling."

Her breath quickened. She leaned towards his touch, inhaled the smell of his skin before drawing his mouth towards her own.

Passion spewed over them as the latches restraining their desires gave way. Reginald cupped the back of her head as he allowed his tongue to caress the inside of her mouth with ease. Lifting her emerald green skirt, Ava, placed his hand between her thighs, moaning gently into his ear.

Reginald toyed with her, stroking the smoothness of her skin before pulling back from where she would have him go.

"Who is this?" he asked, breathing heavily against her face.

"What?" she whimpered, as he gave in to what she wanted.

"Who am I kissing right now? Ava or Emolee?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." she said, lowering her moan as she buried her face into his chest.

"Uh uh," he said, lifting her chin towards his face. "You don't get to do that. Answer me."

"What does it matter?" She asked, desperate for him to continue, for them to move towards the couch, the floor, anywhere that would allow them the fullness of the moment.

"It matters to me." Reginald said, drawing back his hand from underneath her skirt.

"Why?" She complained, "Why are you ruining this? Don't you want me?" She asked, now placing her hands on the taut seam of his pants.

"I do." He said, in between kisses. "You of all people know how much I want you."

"Come on then." she urged, pushing him towards the couch.

"No." He responded, stiffening against her push. "Who is this? Who am I getting right now?"

Ava pushed away from him angrily. Using the palm of her hand to wipe over her lips as if the action erased any kiss that had befallen it.

"Get out."

"That's what I thought." Reginald responded, picking his hat up from off the floor. "Characters within characters, huh? You can try to hide behind Emolee all you want, lie to yourself, pretend you're so devoted to the character that you allowed your own to slip away. You can say whatever you want to say to yourself, Ava. Do whatever convinces you to put your ring back on. But don't say any of it to me. You won't ever convince me that these are Emolee's desires. That this is just an extension of the stage. Method-acting, if you will. Admit to yourself what's happening here. Be honest about what this really is and you can have my hand anywhere you'd like."

"Fuck you, Reginald." She said, glaring back at him with eyes that began to glisten. 

"I know who I'm kissing. When you're ready to call her by her name, let me know." Reginald replied, turning towards the door.

"Ava! Okay? Damn it! It's Ava! It's me!" she screamed behind him.

Tears poured down her eyes in streams that made her face appear gentler than what her voice suggested. "Ava, a married woman wanting an affair with a costar eleven years younger than her, like a pathetic idiot, that's who you're kissing! Is that what you wanted me to say?" She yelled. Wiping her face with such force she left red streaks across her cheeks.

"I'm sorry that I do this to you. That I've made you feel ashamed." He said drawing nearer. "I'm sorry that I didn't meet you ten years ago, married you before anyone else had the chance. I wish I wasn't 31. I wish I could be anything, everything that would allow us to exist. That would allow this to be real."

"But we can exist." Ava insisted. "We can exist here, as Emolee and Dr. Caster."

"I act for a living, Ava, you can't ask me to live in an act."

"This is all we have right now. This is our space. We can put on these fake skins, these made-up names, and have each other. No one can judge us here, no one can see us here."

"How can you offer me the shadow of a thing?" Reginald asked, pushing away from her.

"Because that's all I have to give you, Reginald! That's all I have. I can't give you Ava, she...she belongs to someone else."

"And how many of your other characters belong to old costars?" He said, seeking to hurt her.

"Oh.” She said, absorbing the impact of his words. “Oh that's lovely." 

"I'm sorry I said that." Reginald recoiled, regretting it already.

"No, you're well within your right. You don't know me. We've been costars for what? Three months? Who knows anyone in three months? For all you know I'm a whore, right? Existing in as many fantasies as I have productions. But what you should know, is that you don't get to insult me and fuck me. You can leave, Reginald. This is over."

"It never even started."

"Perhaps we're all the better for it."

"What happens if we do it your way, Ava? If we give into ourselves right now, what happens afterwards? When the series is over? When the show wraps up and we are on leave for nine months, for a year? What happens to me then? I know what happens to you. You get to go back to your marriage, back to a man who I'm sure loves you. You get to hang Emolee up in a closet somewhere and only worry about her if the season gets picked up again. But what happens to me?" Reginald paused with a rhetorical tone. "What halls do I get to pace in every night thinking of you? How much sleep do I get to lose worrying about you, waiting for you, thinking about this very moment when I made the wrong decision no matter what decision I make!"

"Well you don't have to worry about that anymore." Ava replied, cold and distant. "That decision was made for you. You're right. I don't want any of this. I apologize for the confusion I may have caused, but you may go now."

“Seriously?” Reginald asked. 

“Absolutely.” Ava replied. 

Reginald gathered his hat and headed towards the door for the last time that evening.

"Good night, Reginald." Ava called from her vanity.

"Goodbye, Emolee." Reginald replied, closing the door behind him.