Читать книгу Naughty Little Secrets - Mary Wilbon - Страница 9

Too much Ecstasy and Viagra, too many drinks, not enough men. It was almost the perfect ending to a less than perfect day.

Eugene looked at his watch. The numbers were scrambled at first, making no sense at all. Eugene continued to stare at them until they gradually aligned themselves correctly.

Three in the morning.

He had called for a ride over twenty minutes ago. He was too inebriated to try to drive himself home. Eugene was still glowing and tingling from the effects of the drugs and alcohol and sex. He was pleasantly stoned and exhausted.

He looked around the parking area. Except for his, all the other cars were gone.

Eugene was very often the last to leave. This place was great for men who wanted anonymous sex. With his good looks, Eugene always got every man he wanted. But he always left wanting more. He frequented this rest stop off the Garden State Parkway at least three times a week. He couldn’t get his fill.

Normally he would have stayed even longer, but the winter weather and the holidays had kept a lot of men away.

Eugene knew he spent too much time here. He had made a New Year’s resolution to cut back. But it was already days into January and he still hadn’t altered his behavior in the least.

Oh, well. So much for resolve.

Maybe next year.

He pulled his coat collar up and over the scarf underneath. He had to protect his throat from the cold night air. No matter how cavalier Eugene may have been with his sex life, he was always very protective of his singing voice. He was in a show now, and he had to be at rehearsal later. Even though it was only community theater, Eugene took his responsibility very seriously.

He figured he could kill some time waiting for his ride by going over his script. It would probably help him sober up, too.

Eugene closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate. Then he started saying his lines and singing softly.

Sotto voce.

He had a wonderful voice. He had some formal training, but that had been done merely to enhance his resume and impress everyone who read it. Singing beautifully just came effortlessly to Eugene.

He walked around the dark, quiet, empty lot, acting and singing to himself, getting into his character as if he were on the stage. The only other sound breaking the late night stillness was the sound of the thin layer of snow crisply crunching beneath his footsteps. He strode up and down, reciting his lines theatrically, even measuring out his blocking and attempting a few of the dance numbers.

A car approached the parking lot very quietly, the driver looking around, careful not to be observed. The driver parked in a remote spot then turned off the engine. Then watched Eugene. Watched and waited. Biding time. Calculating.

Eugene tripped once or twice during the dance routine due to intoxication, but damn, he was good. Why couldn’t he be this good in front of an audience? Eugene knew he wasn’t a great actor, but he was adequate. And like most actors, he told himself that at times he was wonderful, and at this specific point in time, all alone with no one around to appreciate his gift, he was truly inspired. He was under the influence of drugs and alcohol, of course, so maybe his judgement was somewhat impaired, but he felt this was unquestionably the best he had ever been.

After several repetitions, Eugene was confident that he had mastered all his songs, and that he knew most of his dialogue, but he was not so comfortable with the dance routines. The ability to move fluidly on the stage was not one of his natural talents, but he would not be satisfied until he was sure that he had given it his best try. He was determined to get through a dance number here and now without falling or stumbling.

Focus, Eugene, focus.

And…5, 6, 7, 8

Kick, step, kick, step

Turn in, turn out

Back step, pivot step

Arabesque, arabesque

Double pirouette

On one of his turns, Eugene noticed the car sitting there directly in front of him with its lights off. He had been so deeply into his performance that he hadn’t heard it drive up. He felt a little embarrassed. He must have looked very foolish from the car, all alone out here in the darkness, playing out his little pantomime.

But his friend would understand. They were both in the same show.

The car’s engine came to life, then its lights came on, centering on Eugene, pinpointing him with two steady radiating beams.

Eugene smiled and waved and started walking toward the car.

He blinked and squinted as he approached, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness surrounding him.

As he walked closer, Eugene looked into the car and his smile quickly withered. He saw the look of raw unbridled hatred on the face of the driver. The burning rage staring back at him was paralyzing.

At first the driver was nervous about being recognized. There was a feeling of sick excitement. That quickly passed. The driver began to enjoy the eye contact, enjoyed being recognized by Eugene. Now they had another secret connection. It would be Eugene’s last little secret.

The driver smiled, and shifted position in the seat, getting comfortable.

Fear came fast to Eugene and it showed on his face. The driver liked that.

Eugene stopped abruptly in his tracks. A sudden chill pierced him to his soul.

He was alone, wasted and vulnerable, with nowhere to hide.

In an instant of crystal clarity, Eugene understood exactly what was about to happen to him.

That was the funny thing. The idea of killing Eugene took shape like a slow moving dream, but Eugene knew he was going to be murdered even before the driver had positively decided to murder him.

Oh, my God, Eugene thought. It was true what everyone had always said.

When you’re about to die, your life really does flash before your eyes.

Eugene’s life in musical theater was flashing before him!

West Side Story, Man of La Mancha, A Chorus Line, South Pacific, The Fantasticks, Evita, Pippin, Dream Girls, The Sound of Music, Guys and Dolls, The Wiz, Follies, Victor/Victoria, The Music Man, Godspell, Sorry I Missed Your Birthday.

Eugene needed a moment to prepare.

He raised his hand, seeking a temporary delay to the inevitable.

The driver understood and gave Eugene his moment. The car’s engine revved once, then twice, then settled down to a regulated continuous purr, contented, it seemed to Eugene, like a cat patiently contemplating its trapped defenseless prey.

Eugene had never spent much time pondering the existence of God, but perhaps, he thought, this would be a good time to pray.

His knees hit the snow.

Eugene didn’t pray for God to spare him. He knew there was no chance of that. He didn’t ask for forgiveness of his sins, and he didn’t dare ask that his soul be welcomed into the gates of Heaven for all eternity.

He didn’t pray that peace and comfort be given to the ones who loved him, those whose hearts would mourn his death.

Instead, Eugene prayed that his favorite head shot would be used in his obituary.

Amen.

Then Eugene stood tall and signaled the driver to bring the lights up.

The high beams came on.

With consummate poise and elegance, Eugene took his final bow and made his final exit.

He looked so graceful from the car. It was obvious he was afraid. His body swayed with fear but he never faltered, not for an instant. It was an image that would last forever.

There was the sense that the earth was about to shift. This was the turning point, the threshold.

The driver looked away momentarily, unsure.

For a heartbeat, Eugene felt a twinge of hope.

The moon was so bright, like a great blind eye. It was hypnotic.

Focus back on Eugene, there came a detached peaceful trance. Independent hands, possessed of their own will, gripped the steering wheel like they had their own purpose. Somehow the gas pedal was pressed to the floor, and the car leaped forward.

The car came hurtling at Eugene, pitched him into the air, and sped away into the night.

Without hesitating for a second, without remorse, the driver drove off and never looked back.

Problem solved.

Eugene’s flawless body shattered internally against the ground in a crumpled heap about twenty feet from impact with the car, and then he felt nothing. He was broken and bleeding. In the remaining shallow breaths left to him, he could smell the acrid stench of stale beer and urine from the pavement rising up through the snow. He almost laughed at himself, knowing that these would be the only earthly scents he would take with him into the afterlife. If there was one.

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t feel, he couldn’t even cry out in his anguish, but he could see the widening pool of his hemorrhaging blood as it flowed and discolored the snow around him.

In this cold and lonely place, armed with nothing more than his frail resignation, Eugene waited to die.

God was merciful.

He didn’t judge Eugene for his weaknesses. He rewarded him for his strengths. He granted Eugene the place in Heaven he had felt unworthy to ask for.

In his dwindling seconds of consciousness, as Eugene slipped into oblivion, all of his departed idols of the theater embraced him with a standing ovation. Judy Garland, Rosalind Russell, Katharine Hepburn, Ethel Merman, Mary Martin, Gene Kelly, Sammy Davis, Jr., Pearl Bailey, Gregory Hines, Bob Fosse. They all cheered, threw bouquets and long stemmed roses, applauded and shouted “Bravo! Bravo! Bravissimo!”

Eugene smiled weakly.

Sotto voce.

Eugene was dimly aware that a gentle winter wind was approaching. It stirred through the trees, tenderly blowing off leaves that had died, but still held on tenuously. He knew this wind was coming for him, too.

Eugene closed his eyes for the very last time.

Slow fade.

Curtain.