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"Relax," he said nodding at the sofa when he handed me my water.

"How much time do you spend here?" I asked.

There were some magazines on the table, packages of CDs and tapes on the floor beside the entertainment center, and a small garbage can filled with beer bottles. On a counter near the refrigerator was an old open pizza box with some crust visible.

"Most of my time when I'm home. I go over to the main house for my meals and to sleep, but I've slept here many nights too."

"Your parents don't mind?"

"Mind? I'm out of their hair," he said. "My father had the carpenter build it for me and they bought me all the furniture and let me take the stereo and the television set out of the house."

How strange, I thought, that parents would want to avoid their child so much they would actually create another home away from home for him.

Corbette sat beside me, sipped his beer, and gazed at me as if he was waiting for me to say or do something mind-shattering. I glanced around again and then I opened my bag and took out my script.

"Should we just read through it first?"

"I have it memorized," he bragged. I put the script down.

"I think I do, too."

He smiled that smile full of confidence again.

"Thought so." He turned serious. "You know, you're driving everyone crazy."

"I am? Why? What have I done?"

"You're the first ghetto girl to attend Dogwood and the other girls have been expecting you to fall flat on your face. You keep surprising and disappointing them, especially Colleen," he said.

"Did you expect me to fall on my face, too?"

"Yeah," he confessed, "but I'm enjoying your success because I don't like most of those snobby bitches. It's refreshing to meet someone like you, a girl who knows the score, who's been around and yet can hold her own with them. They're jealous and they're afraid of you. I like that. Rehearsals have never been more fun for me."

He put his beer down and moved closer.

"Let's start, because I have to get back in a few hours:' I said. "My guardian will be calling from the hospital and the maid isn't exactly a fan of mine."

"Sure, but we should get to know each other better first. That way we'll relate to each other better on the stage. I know about these things. I've been in dozens of plays," he said nodding.

"I don't think that's as important as getting to know the people we're supposed to be on stage," I countered. "It's easy to see they're both pretty shy. That might give you the most trouble," I added.

He stared for a moment and then laughed.

"You're pretty funny," he said. He reached under the sofa and came up with a small plastic bag. "I've got some good stuff," he said.

"What is that?"

"I'm sure you recognize good pot:' he said.

"No."

"Come on. It's probably more common than cigarettes where you live."

"It's not more common for me," I said.

"You mean you don't smoke?"

"No," I said.