Mortal Web

Author

Chapter 1

Keep your head, Bailey, she whispered under her breath as she walked the dusty cracked sidewalk to the Old Grand Theater resting like a wasted, drunken whore in downtown Detroit. You want this, you really want this bad.

Bailey hesitated, a bitter wind lashed down the nearly deserted street, sucking up dust and debris like a starving beast. The gray concrete street was lined with pathetic shells of buildings once proud.

In her mind, Bailey heard the critical voice of her mother screaming like a dark-souled witch. She reminded Bailey that she was never going to make it, she didn’t have the talent. Sure, she was pretty enough, but to be an actress you need that special something, and Bailey’s mother was convinced her daughter was simply a talentless spoiled child.

Star Quality was what it was called in Evita, Bailey remembered. She wanted Star Quality more than life itself. Bailey watched the other in her acting classes at college and knew none of them possessed Star Quality like she did. There were a few pretty faces and handsome leading men, but they had no substance to their talent. Not like she did, she was convinced of it because it went unseen by her parents. The only successes so far were in her high school plays.

Just below the shattered marquee stained with rust, she questioned herself again. The place was a dump. Maybe this was the wrong theater for the audition. She looked at the crumpled flyer in her hand, but confirmed the address: the Old Grand Theater. It was the correct place. Besides, she’d already called in sick, pretending to be her mother on the phone. The secretary at Belle Park High School, Mrs. Neeme, was clueless.

No one ever said Detroit was the place to start a career in the spotlight. She knew California or New York was where she needed to be, but couldn’t afford it right now. In her head she knew she could be the next Rihanna, Megan Fox, or Kirsten Dunst. It didn’t matter that her parents were rich she wanted to do this on her own. Her mother would be proven wrong, even if she did have to start in porn. Bailey laughed to herself, a mixed voice of vindictiveness and trepidation that would really put another nail in her mother’s coffin.

Trash blew by in the blustery March winds. Downtown, cooler air came off the river. Tattered posters and flyers snapped against the sides of the building as she walked closer to the bank of old, paint-chipped doors of the Grand. The box office was vacant and the glass was shattered by the tell-tale spider webs of bullet holes. Someone had slapped up panels of plywood from the inside to deter vandals.

The first door she tried was strongly held from within, as was the second and the third. Bailey turned her back to the theater and looked back down the street from where she had come. It wasn’t the street she was looking at, though. She saw the path of her life leading up to the locked doors of the Grand. Seemed it was always that way: put your head down into the wind Bailey and don’t look up. You know what you want and you don’t dare listen to her tell you otherwise. Then, she angrily hit the locked door.

Damn, she whispered to herself as she pushed stray strands of bleached hair back beneath her hood. This was a stupid mistake. I should have never come down here. This is ridiculous.

Bailey sighed and rested her back up against the old doors. She needed just a few minutes to gather her thoughts before heading home. It was a long walk to the parking garage, and a longer walk into her mother’s eye sight. Oh how critical that bitter, birdlike gaze would be. The day was too cold and her hopes lay broken like dirty ice beneath her feet.

So stupid, she thought. Why do I keep on doing this kind of shit? When will I learn there aren’t any freak Hollywood breaks anymore. There’s no such thing as a Lana Turner at a drugstore, or a Toni Braxton singing at a gas pump only to be overheard by a record producer the next island over.

She didn’t have the looks of a potential supermodel who could be spotted in any mall or on the beach. Bailey was attractive, but not in the way that would cause men to fall to their knees. All her breaks came the hard way in spite of her privilege.

Maybe there’s another way in, she thought, backstage perhaps. No, Bailey, her mother’s voice boomed judgmentally in her brain. There are no open doors for you. You stay home with your father and I, we will take care of you. You don’t need anything on your own. Anything. You’re not smart enough nor pretty enough on your own to make it. Go to college and find a nice husband.

Like she did.

Damn it! Bailey slammed her fist into the door again before turning to leave. The echo reverberated through the lobby beyond the dilapidated box office. Why am I so stupid?

Then, the door behind her thumped and cracked open along the seam. Someone had gently pushed it from the other side and a rush of warm air struck Bailey in the face. The smell was unmistakably musty with hints of grease paint and sawdust. Her pupils were tight from the harsh light outside and made the darkness beyond only more dense. The door opened another few inches as the winds created low pressure by rushing past the steel, and Bailey slipped her fingers in the crack without a second thought.

Chapter 2

It took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the burning darkness. Slowly, along the far wall, she saw a flickering exit sign. Then, more was visible to Bailey. Dust and mold stimulated Bailey’s allergies and she quickly rubbed her nose to fend off a sneeze. Around her, the large vacant lobby gradually lightened.

Hello? She questioned the darkness, hoping the person who had opened the door was still around.

The only answer was tense silence. Then, somewhere near a pair of tattered doors leading to the auditorium, she heard feet hurrying away.

Wait! she shouted. Is this the place for . . . her voice softened, . . . the audition?

Maybe she should just turn around and leave. This is ridiculous, you should have listened the first time and never come. You should have gotten the hint when the doors were locked and there was no one to greet you. There were no signs, no evidence that anyone had been in this theater for years. But it did have electricity, Bailey thought. The exit sign was illuminated and other distant points of light could be seen throughout the lobby. Suddenly, she heard muffled voices coming from beyond the auditorium doors.

Bailey climbed the wide stairs dressed in worn crimson carpet and reined in by chipped, ornate wooden railing. This must have been quite a place, she thought. Her eyes were now adjusted to the gloom and the theater was indeed in use by someone. She looked to the high ceilings to see water-damaged plaster detailing and broken chandeliers; and faded curtains climbed the walls from pools of fabric on the dirty floors.

The auditorium doors hung loose in their hinges and offered no resistance when she pushed them open. Just beyond the doors, and down a steep aisle between rows of tattered seats, the stage was buzzing with activity. Two figures were on the stage that was bare except for a folding card table, a camping cot, and a few miscellaneous props. One of the people was a striking young man of about 20 with thick black hair.

But he paled next to the other figure. At first, Bailey thought it was a mannequin of a supremely tall woman perched on stiletto heals. She wore a black double-breasted suit, which subdued her full breasts. The jacket caressed her thin waist and spread just slightly at the hips, giving her the classical shape of an hourglass.

Suddenly, the larger-than-life character on the stage turned. Her flowing mounds of brilliant red hair swirled as she looked down the aisle and directly into Bailey’s eyes. It was like radar lock. Missiles of nervousness slammed into the young actress.

Who have we here? The woman asked, her voice unusually resonant for a female.

Was it a man or a woman? Bailey asked herself. The wild spikes of hair made the formidable figure clearly over seven feet tall, and her face was harsh with dramatic makeup. If she wasn’t so garish, she’d be beautiful, Bailey thought.

I’m Bailey Moses, I’m here for the audition. Someone named Aura returned my call. I hope I said the name right.

Bailey, the woman stalked to the edge of the stage like a glorious ringmaster drunk on power. My aren’t you a pretty ingenue? And the name is Aura.

The unusual name burned in Bailey’s ears, Is this the right place?

It certainly is, dear heart, it certainly is. The ringmaster came down from the stage and strode confidently toward Bailey who seemed to get smaller as the figure approached. I am the director of this production.

Nice to meet you, Bailey replied, her foot itching in her boot sodden with sweat. I thought there would be more people here.

Aura looked up at the young man on the stage then down at two other would-be starlets in the front row. Not everyone gets a chance to audition for me. I’m sure I have the talent in the room for my production. Now Bailey, come have a seat while I make last minute preparations. You came in at just the last minute. I thought I lost you. Aura smiled broadly like an animal trap, is that fate? Her laugh was a deep, manly cackle, oh, we’ll see.

Bailey didn’t take her eyes off the confusing, charismatic Aura as she sat next to one of the other girls in the front row. Out of the shadows of backstage, a thin young man dressed in black velvet walked across the stage. He carried himself like a lion or cheetah, and in he headed for Bailey. Down the side stairs he climbed. In his hand, he held a bundle of stapled papers. She looked up into his fierce attractive face as he approached, smiling submissively.

Here are the lines for the audition. You’ll go last. Then he pointed at Bailey and the other girl, You both need to come with me. Aura doesn’t like her actresses seeing the others auditioning. She wants to see your raw talent at work.

Raw talent, the other girl commented sarcastically, how raw are we talking?

You can leave any time, he responded pointedly. You are not obligated to be here.

Fine, it sounds pretty weird to me. She stood up and gathered her coat and purse. This is a little too much.

You may leave by the back stage door then. There is a large man sitting back on a stool, ask him to show you out.

Thank you, she scooted past Bailey and the young man on her way out the door. She stopped, however, and glanced back at Bailey and the other actress who remained, good luck.

Thanks, Bailey replied.

What about you? he asked and touched her on the shoulder.

His hand was cool, yet it burned through her to the bone, I’m staying.

Good, follow me.

Bailey stood and they both went up the stairs that led to the stage. From her vantage point, Bailey could see the entire theater stretching above her like an open mouth waiting to consume her. The single balcony level was just as tattered as the rest of the old theater yet the architecture was crisp. Large decorative sconces of white plaster ringed the balcony; and on top of each was a small device with a red light nervously blinking. There were more than twenty of them, evenly spaced—all facing center stage.

This way, the young man said. You can wait in the green room until I come for you.

Without further discussion, Bailey followed him back stage. She looked around in the stark, dim light and saw an empty stool by a back door. She thought of the actress who just left. This must be the door by which she was told to exit only there was no attendant. A few yards beyond the door, through a labyrinth of ripped scenery and old curtains, a small door stood ajar. Bright light blazed out of the room.

Please do not touch anything. I will be back for you when it is time.

Bailey said nothing as the door swung shut.

Chapter 3

For nearly five minutes, Bailey contemplated the solitude of the dressing room. In her hand were the sweat -soaked the photocopied pages and she remembered why she was here. Bailey looked at her surroundings. The tiny room was composed of clean but dull black-and-white tile, a small porcelain sink, a Formica countertop with several old tackle boxes spilling out powder compacts and tubes of makeup. There were two stools in front of a mirror with faded silver backing, and nothing else in the room.

Bailey went to one of the stools, the one with the better light, and began to read the first lines of the play. She couldn’t focus, though. Bailey’s mind raced with thoughts of school and work and Star Quality.

The young man who brought her back to the room to wait said she doesn’t like her actresses to see one another’s auditions. So Aura was a woman? She read a few more lines from the play. Aura’s laugh was so dry, almost like a hacking cough of someone insane on Marlboro Reds and it was echoing in Bailey’s ears.

Focus, Bailey, focus, Bailey pushed her occupation of Aura from her mind and started from the top of the page.

She read the words to herself. There was no title to the play, and the scene was between two characters: Athabasca and Xavier. Bailey assumed she was reading for the role of Athabasca, yet there was no information on the character. What was her background? How old was she? Was she happy or sad? Was she a bitch or a martyr?

Aura was indeed after her creativity, she thought. What kind of person would have the name Athabasca? Cold, pampered, distant, manipulating spoiled. These qualities instantly sprang to mind, instant associations with Bailey’s mother. Her name sounds like alabaster, cool and creamy with no color. She would be pale as stone and just as aloof in the heart.

Bailey lifted her head and smiled confidently at her reflection in the faded mirror, good job.

What if the other actress thought the same thing? Bailey had to stand out, she had to be the best. No one wanted the role more than her. She had things to prove to herself, the world and most importantly to her mother. Bailey did have what it takes, she had star quality, she could feel it in her veins.

Everything about her said she was an undiscovered treasure. In the mirror, Bailey looked at her own face and thought it was quite beautiful. Her eyes were intensely green with no red vessels in the white, or discoloration of the iris. There were no flecks of hazel or brown or gold, just green.

Some would call her mouth harsh, but Bailey knew it was sexy. Stars lined their lips then colored them in with deep, rich color. She’d licked her lips so much because of her nervousness that the only thing that remained was the thin dark outline, which made her look cartoonish and cheap. A porn queen, just like her mother expected, not an actress. She needed lip color.

Bailey put her script down, and flipped open one of the tackle boxes. A little voice inside her urged her to read the words on the pages, become familiar with them and knock Aura out with your pure talent. No, Bailey thought, she must look the part—the talent would have to wait. She’d nail the audition, she was sure of it. No one wanted it as much as her.

The character had to be locked down tightly: mannerisms, speech patterns, everything.

She located some old lip paint of deep red and saturated her lips liberally. Instantly, they came alive with fullness and sensuality. The lips were now just right, but her skin had too much color to be Athabasca. Bailey then selected a small compact of pale pancake makeup. With the soft pad, Bailey toned down the redness of her windburned cheeks and forehead. Bailey then toyed with her hair, attempting to make it a little more attractive. She swept up the loose strands and clipped them in place with some bobby-pins from the tackle box. Athabasca would be upswept and cold, skin of ice, lips of blood.

Suddenly, there was a rapid knock on the door just before it opened, We’re ready for you.

Bailey grinned in the mirror, cleaned a little smudge of lip color with her thumb and grabbed her script, How ironic I was just thinking the same thing.

Chapter 4

No noise came from the stage area beyond the curtain. Bailey could have sworn she heard a feeble ripple of applause moments ago as she exited the dressing room, but must have been mistaken. Perhaps it was her own dreams of glamour manifesting in her mind.

Hear the applause? They love you with their applause.

Bailey followed her host to an area directly back stage. Although she couldn’t see around the heavy curtains, there was indeed some activity on the stage. She sat on a vacant, rusted stool near the edge of the curtains stage right. A small-statured stagehand with a limp and a stoop hustled from the stage with a bucket and mop. Momentarily, he glanced at Bailey. But the look lasted for eternity. His eyes burned insanely. His grin was deep in his face, and dimples formed in his cheeks. Strangely, Bailey thought to herself if he wasn’t so unpleasant to look at, in some other forum, he may be attractive. His face had a hidden sweetness, but it was buried behind a mask of pain. She knew pain’s mask just as well as pleasure’s.

Suddenly, he returned to his path, skulking with the mop bucket, into the shadows of the Grand’s bowels. Bailey shivered; a cool wind came from an unseen source and rippled through the curtains. Someone had opened a door, but it closed just as quickly. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Her mind raced with self-doubt. Subconsciously, and through her shirt sleeve, Bailey began to scratch at a scabbed over cut on her arm.

The young man who had led her around in the theater had vanished. In her hand, the pages of her script became soaked with her perspiration. She hadn’t realized it before, but her grip on the paper was so tight the pages were nearly balled up and illegible. The brief wind kicked up dust from the thick curtain that hung like folds of old skin from the rafters, and a strange odor tickled her nose. It was metallic, slightly damp, and reminiscent of sour meat.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder from behind, startling her back to the present. I didn’t mean to scare you, but it’s your turn.

She looked back at the young man who’d been with her before, You didn’t scare me. I’m a little jumpy.

I just wanted to let you know, he locked eyes with her hypnotically, I think you’ll be the best of all of them.

Thank you, Bailey cracked a nervous smile. What do I do now?

Just walk out center stage. Aura will have instructions for you.

I didn’t get a chance to really go over the lines too much.

I don’t think it will be a problem, he urged her off the stool with a strong hand, go on. Knock them dead.

She stood at the edge of the curtains. About fifteen feet in front of her, the curtains parted narrowly and light from the auditorium filtered through. It was the subdued lighting of spotlights and accent lighting. Shafts a raw white light also burst through. Her palms began to sweat again, further damaging her script. Nervously, she held it up to see it, the ink had smeared in several spots.

Damn, she whispered. I’m screwed.

Sweet heart, we haven’t got all day, Aura’s voice floated backstage. Come on out.

Bailey stepped from the safety of the musty curtains and into the brilliant lights of the stage. They filled her with warmth. Whatever reservations she had melted as the light became part of her soul. This is where she wanted to be, bathing in the glory of the stage. Even the audition lights were brighter and more promising than life itself. Her palms dried and she licked her lips. Not too, much, though, to dilute their redness. She was Athabasca.

Move like her, feel her heart beat, let her blood rush through your veins. Athabasca.

Bailey’s eyes adjusted to the light and she surveyed the stage quickly. It was bare except for a small folding table where an attractive young man sat. There was also an old twin bed across from him, and the stage was damp as if it had just been mopped.

What’s your name again, dear heart? Aura’s form was a silhouette in the footlights staring into Bailey’s face.

My name? She gave the script a squeeze, I’m Athabasca.

Aura’s zealous chortle echoed through the theater, You are? Fantastic.

Aura then began to walk toward Bailey. Slowly, the imposing form eclipsed the lighting and Bailey could see the painted face and ratted hair of the theater’s dame. With each step, Aura took a bite out of Bailey’s confidence. She seemed to grow a foot with every footstep and Bailey seemed to shrink away at an equal rate.

Are you a star? Aura paused and looked Bailey squarely in the face. Are you?

I . . . Bailey stumbled to speak, but she was too intimidated by the larger-than-life presence before her.

Suddenly, Aura wheeled around on her stiletto heels and faced the empty auditorium. Bailey watched as she began to stalk the stage, and the red lights danced from the balcony. Squinting, Bailey looked hard at the balcony itself and realized there were people up there in the shadows. She couldn’t tell how many or what they were doing, but they were there nonetheless.

This is the theater, little girl. Aura’s voice boomed dramatically through the auditorium, either you are a star or you’re not. A star gives everything to their craft. A star burns brightly and never fades. They explode for fear of winking out into oblivion. They soar above the others, mere actors who play the role. A star lives the role.

Aura reached the end of the stage, lifted her hands skyward and turned around to challenge Bailey: Are you a star, dear heart?

Yes, the word escaped her lips before she could think about it.

Then let’s see it. You have the script. He is your Xavier, your leading man.

Bailey glanced down at the script. Uncertainty crept onto her spine and up her back. She didn’t know the lines, she barely read the first page. Relax, it’s an audition, you’re not expected to know the lines. Just read them. Read them like Athabasca would.

She read the first line and prepared for delivery, I refuse to live like this any longer. She crossed the stage to where the actor sat. We can’t go on like this.

You’re right, he replied, obviously from memory as he laid a hand on the pistol near his hand. There’s only one way to end a relationship like ours.

Bailey paused to consume a few more lines quickly, yet she fumbled over the stage directions for her to move closer to the actor. It didn’t seem right, the whole scene was surreal and threatening. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her and instead of walking to the table, Bailey went to the bed and sat on it.

Her impromptu move intrigued Aura, whose eyebrows arched with interest. The actor playing Xavier took his hand off the pistol and a confused expression crossed his face. Her improvisation disturbed him, threw off his game. He stood and stopped the scene.

She’s not supposed to do that, he said.

Aura reluctantly agreed, Please follow the script.

It just didn’t feel right, Bailey replied. Athabasca’s motivation didn’t seem right to me.

And what would seem right? Aura’s eyes glistened and she licked the corners of her mouth with hungry anticipation.

Bailey had no clue, she was just stalling for more time. However, she was a good enough actress to put off Aura for a few minutes while she gathered her thoughts and decided what to do. She looked to the handsome young Xavier, who in turn eyed Aura. In the light, Bailey caught the color of his blue eyes and the reflection of fear on their moist surface.

Can I talk just a minute with him, she pointed at the actor, so we can get this right. It must be right to give the best audition.

By all means, Aura gestured courteously, but make it quick.

Hastening to the