Page 8 of For My Finale

L ilah had always been good at entertaining herself.

As an only child, she’d spent hours making up elaborate stories, acting them out in front of her bedroom mirror.

As a teenager, she’d spent whole summers on set, running lines, absorbing every lesson into her DNA.

And as an adult, she’d rarely been alone.

Always at premieres or interview, photoshoots or sets, her calendar so packed that she barely had time to think.

And now?

Now she was lying on the world’s smallest and lumpiest couch, staring at the ceiling, and wondering if it was possible to die from sheer boredom.

Bankton had nothing. No parties, no scandals, no overpriced organic juice bars.

The days stretched in front of her, long, endless, suffocating in their quiet.

She’d already been to the tiny store and bought eggs, yoghurt, and something in a screw-top bottle that said it was wine.

She’d been on a walk that had ended with a sheep looking at her funny, though at least she hadn’t run into Billy.

And she’d attempted to watch British daytime TV, something that she shuddered to think about and would not be mentioning again.

This, she decided, was an existential crisis in real time.

It was like it had taken all her energy to break away from her old life and now she had nothing left to plan her new one .

She knew why she was here, she knew why she’d walked away, but it was as though she was still reeling from the shock of what she’d done and had no stable foundation on which to build anything else.

She truly didn’t know where to go from here, despite knowing in the abstract what it was she wanted. Meaning. That was it. She wanted meaning.

She groaned and buried her head in a cushion. Maybe she could reorganize her sock drawer or something.

And then the knock came at the door.

For a second, she stared at the door, suspicious. On the one hand, no one should be visiting her. Barely anyone knew that she was here. On the other hand… well, having another person to take part in what were becoming increasingly alarming conversations in her head could be no bad thing.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

Lilah got up, walked the three steps to the door, and opened it.

A mass of scarves stood there, beaming.

“Lilah,” the scarves said, far too enthusiastically. “I just knew that you’d be home.”

The actress, Lilah remembered. The Dam-Sam lady, or whatever it was. Am-Lam? Dram-Tam?

“Gloria,” the scarves beamed. “From Am-Dram?”

That was it. Lilah resisted the urge to slam the door shut. “Gloria,” she said. “I was just about to…” But she couldn’t think of a damn excuse.

Undeterred, Gloria waltzed in like she owned the place, taking in the modest décor with a slight wrinkle of her nose before turning back to Lilah.

“We got off on the wrong foot,” she declared.

“But we must stick together. We’re both actresses, after all.

We both understand the craft. We both are artists. ”

“Are we?” asked Lilah, somewhat unsure in the face of Gloria’s absolute certainty.

“Oh, absolutely,” Gloria chirped. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. I want to personally invite you to the Bankton Players first rehearsal of Streetcar tonight. As my honored guest. ”

Lilah blinked. “What, now?”

Gloria clasped her hands together, her entire being seeming to vibrate with dramatic energy. “We’re doing Streetcar, darling. It’s going to be stunning. You must come!” She paused, looked around, then added, “You must be desperate for something to do.”

Rude, but accurate. Lilah narrowed her eyes. “Honored guest?”

“Yes, yes,” Gloria said, waving a hand. “No expectations.”

“I’m not performing,” Lilah said.

“Oh, of course not. But you must witness this.”

Lilah had a feeling that she was going to regret this. But Gloria had a point, she had nothing else to do. And at least it would get her out of the house.

THE TINY TOWN hall was packed. Lilah had walked past her car on the way here and thought that she should call the company to come and collect the damn thing.

She had no intention of attempting to get it out of its parking space.

Unless she could do it in the dead of night with no one watching. That was a thought.

She’d been so busy thinking about parking that the little crowd in the town hall took her by surprise. She’d imagined a handful of retirees reading from a shared script. But no, it looked like half the town had turned out to be a part of… whatever this was doomed to be.

“Darling, you came!” Gloria caroled. “Come, come, have a seat. The seat of honor, of course. Just you sit here and drink it in, darling. Drink in the theater. It’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

Lilah, who couldn’t remember having mentioned that she didn’t feel wonderful, allowed herself to be seated.

And then she waited as Gloria danced around, clapping her hands, calling out instructions.

From what she could tell, Gloria was both the head of the society and the director.

And once the read-through began, she was plainly the leading lady as well .

Crossing her arms and biting her tongue, Lilah let the first scene take place.

People read from scripts, which was fine.

But Gloria appeared to have lost all control of her arms, gesticulating wildly with every line, and Arty, who was playing Stanley, delivered all his lines with the emotional depth of a satnav.

She lasted five minutes before she snapped.

“What are you doing with your hands?” she blurted out, standing up. “You’re like a wounded pigeon. And why is he talking like he’s giving directions on Google Maps?”

The entire room froze, and even Lilah gasped at herself. She might have gone a tad too far. But she assumed that she’d been invited because Gloria wanted some sort of feedback.

Gloria clutched at her chest. “Ms. Paxton, you wound me,” she declared.

Lilah rubbed at her temples. “I’m just saying—”

“No, no,” Gloria interrupted, dramatically fanning herself with her script. “A professional actress has come to judge our humble work. We are but mere mortals!”

“That’s not what—”

“It’s too much, it’s too much!” wailed Gloria. “I cannot go on!”

Lilah watched as Gloria swooped from the stage, everyone else standing around like wooden puppets. “She might actually be the best actress here,” she muttered to herself.

???

Blossom, who had been watching this disaster unfold from her usual spot near the snack table, was feeling increasingly concerned.

Lilah must be some sort of chaos gremlin. A disruptive influence, as her old headmaster had used to say. And if someone didn’t intervene, clearly Gloria was about to work herself up into a full Shakespearean meltdown.

As Gloria swept toward the wings, Blossom clapped her hands together and beamed a huge smile. “Tea break! Time for tea! Everyone, let’s reset and have a nice cup of tea.”

Tea was the magic word in a room full of English people, and she’d said it three times, so it was like a charm. The tension in the room deflated, and even Gloria slid back in from the wings to come down to join the line for tea.

Blossom turned to see Lilah staring at her in wonder, and she just raised an eyebrow in return. “Behave yourself,” she mouthed over the heads of the tea line.

Lilah smirked, clearly unrepentant.

Blossom thought that she’d gotten away with things. Mostly, she had. Gloria wasn’t about to faint onto her deathbed, and the rest of the cast, well used to Gloria’s dramatics by now, were happily munching on biscuits. Well, most of them.

Daisy had obviously spotted an opportunity.

She’d been lingering around the snack table, practically vibrating with excitement, until finally, Lilah came close enough to be pulled into conversation.

Blossom was just refilling a plate of biscuits when she heard Daisy say, “I love your movies, have you met Chris Hemsworth?”

Lilah took a thoughtful sip of tea. “He’s taller than you think.”

Daisy made an excited squeak, like a small mouse, that had Lilah share an amused look with Blossom.

“But everyone watched The Master of It All for you, not for him, I swear,” Daisy was saying. “Especially Blossom, right Bloss?”

Blossom had a chance to neither confirm nor deny. Because Daisy was still talking. Still talking to Lilah.

“Blossom’s had a crush on you forever,” Daisy was saying. “She had posters of you in her room and everything.”

Blossom dropped the teaspoon she was holding, feeling like her entire soul was leaving her body. Felling like she could simply sink through the wooden floors into the cellar, then through the soil and the rocks, all the way to the earth’s fiery core and be devoured.

And Lilah was looking at her, making it all far worse .

“Has she now?” Lilah said, looking very amused.

“Daze, I swear…” Blossom said, voice strangled.

But Lilah was laughing, not in a cruel way, a nice laugh, gentle and kind. “She’s not the only one. Literally thousands have people have fallen in love with me. Most of them are sensible enough to grow out of it.”

It was the perfect response. It saved Blossom from disappearing into the ground, and brushed the moment off like it was nothing. Blossom found that she could actually breathe again.

Lilah set down her tea. “I should go,” she said.

And she went, striding out of the hall, chin high, coat flaring behind her.

Blossom glared at a very horrified looking Daisy, then exhaled, feeling like she’d just survived some sort of natural disaster.

Then she caught sight of Lilah through the window, walking down the quiet, empty street.

She looked lonely.

Blossom bit her lip. Maybe she hadn’t been the best neighbor. Maybe she should try a little harder. Maybe Lilah wasn’t quite the monster that she could appear to be.

That was a lot of maybes.