Final Curtain, Take ii

[NORA stands for a moment as though collecting herself. Then she looks at her watch: Five o’clock. Seven hours till midnight. Then another twenty four hours till midnight tomorrow... Twenty-four and seven? Thirty–one hours to live.]

"So this is the only place I can catch you alone?"
"Close the door."
"Roxanne, I just needed to make sure that we’re on the same page, making sure you don’t over step my boundaries."
"Close the door."
"Just wanted to make this clear to you, know your place—"
"Close the goddamn door!"

Cornered in my cubicle, I sit curled with anxiety punching my bladder, with a roll of toilet paper in my hand and three layers between the seat and I. My throat tightens. Her voice is too close for comfort as she stands between the door, blocking my exit. No mercy in her face, her eyes feed daggers into my soul. I fall back onto my seat so I wouldn’t be putting everything on show, caged in front of her like a neutered cat. Someone is about to get their eyes clawed out.

"I can make this a living nightmare for you, Roxanne. I will make you never want to work in theatre again." She turns to leave, then turns back. "Oh, and I saw your files on Darren’s desk. Twenty-four and a retired model? Shame what a little scratch can do, isn’t it?"

"Bitch, the door. NOW!"

She perfects her posture and smoothes the side of her hair. This girl doesn’t deserve to have that beautiful hair, what a waste. Her eyes slice me up and down.

"Sorry babe, but that’s just the way we do it over here. Just remember that."
"You’re about to see just how I do it, if you don’t move this goddamn minute."
"Touch me; go on, just one finger. I want you to. Just one touch can have you locked up so fast. You won’t know what hit ya. So please, when you’re quite finished down there, do come out, in front of that crowd, and touch me."

She walks away without closing the door.
I walk out of the cubicle replaying her invasion in the mirror in front of me. I freshen up and make myself look presentable again. What happened just then doesn’t matter. Yet. Not for now. Now: make up, wardrobe.

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