REHEARSAL
By
Brian Sands
Evocative image from Sweet Eros,
Author’s note
Rehearsal is a story of experimental consensual bondage,
similar to Meg and Mignon’s
Chapter 1 Leading Lady
‘Don’t you think it’s
ideal?’ Alison waved her arms expansively to take in the large room.
Laura descended the last two steps and set
foot almost reverently on the thick plush carpet that covered the area from
wall to wall. ‘It’s not at all what I envisaged when you suggested
we workshop together in your basement,’ she said to her dark-haired
friend.
‘You were expecting maybe a stone
floor and brick walls, like a dungeon?’ replied Alison with an arch grin.
‘Something like that.’ Laura
walked across to an easy chair and tried it for comfort, bouncing up and down
in it several times.
‘Well, to be truthful, that’s
what the place did look like at first. It needed a lot of renovation. There are
paving slabs under that carpet, and the brickwork needed expensive rendering.
But it’s worth it.’
‘I can see that. Chairs. Television. A
kitchen area. A refrigerator. You even have a computer set up. And a
bed.’
‘Sort of a home under a home. You
know, Lalla, this is where I can retreat from the world. The door is lockable.
I can work down here without anyone interfering with my time. Nobody knows
about this little den, aside from you.’
‘Your secret’s safe with me,
Ally,’ said Laura with a hint of envy in her lilting voice.
‘It’s ideal, I agree.’
‘I knew you’d like it! We can
practice our lines down here for hours without interruption.’
‘We’ll need hours,’ sighed
Laura. ‘I never knew that amateur theatricals were such hard work.
I’m glad I have a good memory for lines. But it’s their delivery
that worries me. How to achieve the right inflection, how to project,
especially with my soft voice.’
‘Of course that’s vitally
important for a leading lady. And such a newcomer on the cast list.’
Alison’s tones were bright and Laura did not notice the underlying
jealousy in the words.
Laura looked up at her friend. ‘Okay.
When would you like to start?’
‘Well ... How would the next weekend
suit you? There’s a public holiday on Monday and, unless you have plans
to be away, we could work on the script on a daily basis, for three days.
I’m at loose ends at present, between jobs, and I can do some
preparations of my own before we rehearse together.’
‘That’s fine. I have no
immediate plans.’
‘No boyfriend?’
Laura shook her head. ‘Nope. I broke
up with Ronald a month ago when I heard about some of his questionable business
practices. You think you know someone after a few months, but I was so
wrong.’
‘Sounds as if he’s no loss
then.’
‘No.’ Laura brightened up.
‘I just thought of something. I have a flexi day coming to me, so why
don’t I take Friday off and we make it a four-day marathon? After all,
the first dress rehearsal comes up the week after, so there’s not much
time. That is, if it’s all right with you?’
‘It’s ideal!’ cried Alison
clapping her hands. ‘Why don’t you bring a bag and stay over for a
few nights?’ She indicated the bed in the corner. It was queen size with
decorative iron filigree-work at the head and foot.
‘Thank you, but not the whole time
I’m afraid. I’ll have to go home some days to feed Puss.’
‘All right. It’s settled then.
Hey, why don’t we start on Thursday evening, make the best of the
opportunity?’
‘I’d like that. I’ll do
some swotting up on my lines and we can try it out with one of two of the less
difficult scenes.’
‘Sure, Lalla. And there are scenes
where you don’t have many lines at all. Maybe that’s a good place
to start.’
Laura smiled and reddened faintly.
‘Where do the script writers get their ideas?’
‘Mostly from the movie and crime
thrillers I expect. It’s a good ploy to tie up the leading lady. Keeps
the audience on the edge of their seats.’
*
The week flew by. Laura arrived at
Alison’s house at eight o’clock sharp on Thursday evening as they
had agreed. As she walked down the long pathway between the trees, she wondered
how ordinary working people like Alison could afford to live in what was a
small suburban mansion. Suburban was hardly the word for it. The two-storey
building was set well away from neighbours, screened from the nearest home by a
thick belt of trees. On the other side, divided by another stand of trees, was
a small community park. Aside from the occasional night sound - she thought she
heard the faint screech of an owl - she might as well be out in the country.
There were none of the usual evening sounds such as muffled television or computer
games, or the slamming of doors and the roar of cars. It was peaceful. But it
was also lonely, and faintly creepy. She felt a shiver course along her spine.
Laura breathed a sigh of relief when the
front porch with its security light came into view around the last bend. The
door opened before the chimes ceased their tinny welcome, and Alison stood
framed in the light from the hallway, her face partly in shadow. She was
wearing dark slacks and a navy blue fitted shirt with sleeves that came to mid-forearm.
It was warm in the house from the central heating. Laura was wearing a raincoat
of light transparent plastic which she now took off.
Alison carried it away, saying, ‘Go on
in to the kitchen, Lalla. We’ll have a coffee before we get down to
business. My, you look good.’
Laura was wearing a dark red silk dress with
short sleeves and a scooped neckline. It’s slim skirt was buttoned down
the front, the last three buttonholes open to reveal a flash of tan stockings
with every step she took.
‘You haven’t brought an
overnight bag,’ said Alison almost accusingly as she followed Laura into
the kitchen.
‘I can’t stay the night, Ally.
The ends of short weeks are always busy and there are a few things I have to do
at home. Maybe tomorrow night?’
‘That’s fine, Lalla. We can plan
things tonight and maybe have a dry run over a couple of scenes.’
‘That sounds good. It will help get
our thoughts together for the longer sessions.’ Laura sipped her coffee.
*
Reclining in the easy chairs in what Alison
called the basement suite, the two women pored over the script together.
‘It’s a big step, doing a
three-act play. The club’s only ever done one-act plays up till
now,’ explained Alison.
‘But with a plot line of this
sort,’ Laura noted, ‘a playwright needs time to develop their
characters. Interesting that a woman wrote it.’
‘Yes. But it’s a cliched plot
with the usual stock characters: the good-time society girl, the scheming aunt
- that’s me,’ said Alison, ‘a cook, a butler, a retired
military officer, a detective investigating suspicious circumstances, and an
adventurer just returned from tropic climes, that’s the hero. And then
there’s the young woman who suddenly appears at the reading of the will
in Act One, Scene 1. You, the leading lady.’
‘I don’t know why the director
chose me,’ said Laura. ‘I’m so new to the Club, I would have
been happy with a minor role, like the cook or the maid.’
‘We all know you were chosen because
you could remember the lines better than the rest of us. And, my dear Lalla,
you really do look the part of a heroine with your slim figure and lustrous
golden-brown hair.’
It was true. Laura had always thought that
her hair was one of her strongest assets. It changed colour in different light.
One moment it was a dark rich brunette, at another moment almost honey
coloured, and sometimes when it caught the sun it was golden. The lights
technician had been ecstatic. And at five foot seven, Laura was a good match
for the leading man. Alison, on the other hand, stood a good five inches
shorter than Laura and, although she too had a slim graceful figure, she tended
to fluff her lines. During the casting these factors were taken into account by
the director. Now all Laura had to do was to live up to it.
‘But this play is more than a string
of cliches,’ Laura argued, ‘It’s really very clever the way
it’s structured. See how the writer’s been economical with the
stage settings? There are only two of them, the hidden room where the heroine
is held prisoner by the aunt, and the drawing room where the different
characters discuss whether the girl’s disappearance places her under
suspicion. Or whether it means she’s been kidnapped. The detective is
trying to uncover who among them is the kidnapper or murderer, and to find out
what the real motive is behind the two crimes. And the scenes move back and
forwards between the two rooms.’
‘Hmm. And my role turns out to be not
an aunt at all but the true imposter. But I think the playwright gave you all
the best lines, Hon. You have a speech at the reading of the will. And of
course you meet the hero in the following scene.’
‘Until I’m kidnapped in Scene
3!’
‘But we both have some great lines in
our dialogues in Acts II and III, when I’m gloating over you and trying
to persuade you to admit that you’re an imposter. Do you realise that
from the end of Act I till the last scene in Act III you spend most of the play
tied up?’
Laura shrugged. ‘It’s just a
play. It’s not as though it’s the real thing.’
‘Being tied up doesn’t worry
you?’
‘No. I think it would be fun.
I’ve never been tied up before. But let’s go through your lines.
You said you were having trouble with them.’
For the next hour, Laura and Alison went
over Alison’s lines together. Alison, the older woman, stumbled over her
words in many places. Each time Laura corrected her gently, but it was becoming
obvious that Alison was growing more and more frustrated. At last Laura
suggested that they stop and have a light drink - Alison offered some dry red
wine - before going on for the next hour. It was already nine o’clock.
‘I know what we can do,’ said
Laura when they had finished their drinks. ‘Let’s rehearse that
first scene where you trick me into entering the room through the secret panel
and make me captive. Perhaps when we’re really acting it, you’ll
remember the words better.’
With the script in her hand, Laura crossed
the room, picked up one of the wooden chairs from where it nested at a kitchen
table with other chairs, and brought it back to the centre of the room. She sat
down in it, placed the script on her knees, and put her arms behind her back.
Alison stood uncertainly, looking at her.
‘Come on, Ally. Find some rope and tie
me up.’
‘Are you sure? We can always fake
it.’
‘What’s the point of that? This
can be like a small dress rehearsal. It will make the play feel more real
too.’
Alison walked slowly to a cupboard set in
the wall below the steps that led from the house to the basement. She chose
three pieces of medium length clothesline, closed the cupboard and turned to
Laura. Laura, engrossed in the script, did not notice the pile of neatly rolled
and stacked rope of different sizes that almost filled one of the shelves.
‘The stage directions don’t tell
us much,’ said Laura. ‘They don’t say how the
heroine’s tied, but I think it’s obvious my hands should be behind
my back. It’s harder to get free that way.’
Laura put the script on the floor and
straightened up in the chair. She saw Alison standing awkwardly with the cords
in her hand.
‘Go ahead.’ Laura stretched her
arms around the back of the chair. It was high, coming to the top of
Laura’s shoulders, but it was also narrow and she could cross her wrists
comfortably behind her. As Alison leaned forward and began to wind the cord
about the young woman’s slim wrists, Laura added, ‘Try to remember
what you say at this point.’
‘Um, uhh ... "Keep still, Miss
Dolores. Any struggling will be .. will be ..."’
‘"Futile ..." And
"Mam’selle Dolores."‘
‘"Futile. I have you now
..."’
‘"There’s no
..."’
‘"No ... no escape." Is that
too tight?’
‘No that’s fine. It’s a
little loose really. But go on with your lines. "No escape
..."’
‘"When you’ve spent a night
or two ..."’
‘"... A day or three
..."’
‘"You ... you’ll be ready
to ...to..."’
‘"Do my bidding." It’s
no good Ally. Finish tying me up, then start over again on the lines.’
‘I don’t think there’s any
more I have to do, that is, to tie you.’
‘Well you have more rope so you might
as well use it. My arms are behind me, out of sight, and it will look more
dramatic if my legs are bound so the audience can see the ropes.’
Alison knelt and began winding a piece of
cord around Laura’s ankles. She tied off a doubled knot and stood up.
‘You’d better do my legs too.
I’ll be wearing a long skirt on the night, but it doesn’t matter
now if you ladder a stocking.’
‘I’ll buy you a new pair anyway,
Hon.’
When Laura’s legs were bound together
just above the knees she wriggled experimentally in the chair.
‘You’ve got one more piece of
rope. I think it would be a good idea to use it to tie me into the chair. Your
speech should stretch over four rope ties!
With fingers that trembled slightly, Alison
bound the remaining piece of cord around Laura’s body below her breasts
and around her upper arms just over the short sleeves of her blouse, passing it
around the back of the chair. It was not long enough to go round twice, so she
contented herself with tying the knot where Laura’s back would be if the
chair were not in the way.
‘How’s that, Hon?’
Laura wriggled.
‘It looks okay and it will fool an
audience, but it’s a stage tie-up isn’t it? It’s not for
real.’
‘Do you want to be really tied
up?’
Laura looked across at the wall clock.
‘This will do for tonight. I think we have time to run through the whole
scene together, now that you have me bound, but first make the cords round my
wrists a little tighter. I can easily slip my hands out. If you tighten them
some more, it will help me get into the role.’
Alison did as she was asked. ‘Is that
better?’
‘Yep. I’ll find it harder to get
free now. Okayyy, so grab that script. Start from where Aunt Gertrude is
binding Dolores.’
*
ACT ONE, SCENE 3.
THE SECRET ROOM.
The
curtain rises on a small dimly lit room. It is empty aside from a heavy chair
down centre stage and a small table with a single drawer midway between down
left and left centre stage. Two walls have wood panelling and one wall is of
stone. A door opens left centre stage and two figures enter. There is the sound
of a switch. As the lights come up, they reveal DOLORES and
GERTRUDE. The latter is walking behind DOLORES and is carrying a torch now
switched off.
DOLORES is wearing a blue silk dress in
the style called a shirtmaker, with broad organza collars in white, long full
sleeves to the wrists, a buttoned front and a wide black belt. A full
skirt falls to her ankles to reveal black strapped shoes with medium high
heels. GERTRUDE is wearing the same black clothes as during the reading
of the will, viz. a somewhat mannish ensemble of slacks, jacket and high heeled
boots. Breaking the severe impression is a white blouse with a stiff collar and
a red breast-pocket handkerchief.
DOLORES: (Drops a silk scarf onto the
table and walks to stage centre. She looks around her). What a strange
place! I always wondered whether it was true that old English mansions really
did have secret passages and hidden rooms. How did you get to know about it?
GERTRUDE: (Speaking over her shoulder
while busying herself at the drawer of the table with her back to DOLORES and
out of sight of the audience). The old lady told me last month. But it
wasn’t until a couple of days ago that I decided to see for myself. Cosy
isn’t it?
DOLORES: But creepy too ... and so quiet. (She
hugs her arms around her body and shivers).
GERTRUDE: Oh yes... Very quiet. No one can
hear us in here, which is of course the whole purpose of monk’s cells and
other hiding places like this one. (GERTRUDE turns. She is now holding a
small automatic pistol in one hand and several coils of rope in the other
hand).
DOLORES: (With her back to GERTRUDE, oblivious
of the woman’s preparations). I can see how useful this place must
have been in dangerous times. So one can hide from one’s enemies.
GERTRUDE: (In a tight, strained voice).
Or keep one’s enemies hidden from their friends.
(DOLORES turns. It takes a moment for her
to register the weapon and the ropes that GERTRUDE is holding.
DOLORES puts her hands to her mouth and backs away slowly.)
DOLORES: Wh- What is this? Why a gun and ropes?
GERTRUDE: The pistol, my dear
Mam’selle, is to persuade you to sit in that chair. The ropes are to
restrain you there at my pleasure.
DOLORES: B- But ... I don’t
understand.
GERTRUDE: I will make it all very plain for
you in a little while. But in the meantime I advise you not to create a fuss
and to sit in that chair like a good little girl.
(DOLORES
turns and reluctantly sits in the chair. GERTRUDE presses the side of
the automatic against DOLORES’ neck. DOLORES shivers and
sits very still).
GERTRUDE: Now put your arms behind you my
dear Mam’selle.
(DOLORES obeys. GERTRUDE slips the pistol
into a side pocket of her jacket and binds DOLORES’ hands and ankles).
DOLORES: Please ... no! (She begins to
struggle).
GERTRUDE: Keep still, Mam’selle
Dolores. Any struggling will be futile. I have you now. There’s no
escape. When you’ve spent a day or three like this you’ll be ready
to do my bidding.
DOLORES: Aunt Gertrude, what do you think
you’re doing?
GERTRUDE (triumphantly ): That will
hold you. A judicious application of rope is all it needs to keep you on ice
while I make up my mind about you.
DOLORES (struggling) : You
don’t have to do this. I am who I say I am - Dolores Beaucoeur, the
rightful heir to the Boncourt fortune.
GERTRUDE: A likely story. None of the other
guests at the reading of the will knew of you. If you really are the heiress,
you’ve kept a low profile for many years. And, for that matter, you
don’t have the same name as the dear deceased. No. I rather think I’ll
make some inquiries. And, in the meantime, I think it’s important that
you disappear temporarily. That young man is showing far too much interest in
you.
DOLORES: You can’t get away with this.
They’ll miss me. And that crazy detective will start asking questions.
GERTRUDE: I’ll tell them that you
decided to visit a village twenty miles away and will be gone for a few days.
They’ll have no reason to disbelieve me, especially when they find that
your little car is no longer where you left it parked.
DOLORES: (registering sudden alarm).
Inspector Rex Barker is investigating the possibility of foul play in the death
of the old woman.
GERTRUDE: Yes. It won’t look good for
you if you can’t be found, will it? That’s a good way to persuade
you to make yourself scarce. When I let you go of course.
DOLORES (struggling anew). These
ropes are awfully tight! Can’t you loosen them a little? I promise I
shan’t try to escape.
GERTRUDE: Under the circumstances, you must
agree that such a promise is worthless. (She turns and walks towards the
doorway. DOLORES struggles harder).
DOLORES: Aunt Gertrude, you can’t
leave me like this! Not in the dark! You can’t be so heartless!
GERTRUDE: Oh but I can be heartless,
Mam’selle Beaucoeur or whoever you are. (She turns back to DOLORES
and snatches the girl’s own silk scarf from the table as she walks
past it).
DOLORES: Look, I’ll make a bargain
with you. I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning before anyone is up.
(GERTRUDE pauses and listens, a knowing grin on her face). I’ll
write a note saying I was ill.
GERTRUDE: Passably convincing, my dear
Mam’selle. But I’m afraid not convincing enough. Your little
outburst reminds me that precautions must be taken. (She gags DOLORES with
the scarf). I rather doubt that anyone will hear your cries through the
wainscoting, but this will make absolutely sure. (DOLORES tries to speak,
shakes her head angrily, and looks daggers at GERTRUDE ).
With her hands on her hips, GERTRUDE stands a moment looking down at
DOLORES who is struggling to free herself of the gag. GERTRUDE walks
nonchalantly to the door, turns, and blows a kiss ironically towards the
prisoner. She exits. The door closes slowly with a creaking sound. The
lighting begins to fade until only a diagonal wedge thrown by the spotlight
remains, centred on DOLORES, bathing her in light. Gradually that
too fades until the stage is plunged into darkness. There is a faint whimper
followed by silence.
CURTAIN
*
‘That wasn’t bad at all,’
said Laura. ‘Some of the time you didn’t need to look at the pages.
Let’s go through it again.’
When Alison had once again recited her
lines, only stumbling a few times when she lost the place, Laura nodded
encouragingly. ‘Your delivery is improving, Ally ... But this is silly.
I’m supposed to be gagged and I’m talking easily through this thin
silk.’
‘But it looks nice on you. The shiny
blue with those touches of red highlights your hazel eyes. And anyway
it’s only a Hollywood gag. You know, like the ones the heroine wears - a
handkerchief or a scarf like yours - and she can’t make the hero hear her
even though she’s a few feet away from him, in a box or another
room.’ She leaned forward and peeled the gag down off Laura’s mouth
so that it fell loose around her neck. At first the silk clung to Laura’s
face and was surprisingly difficult to slip.
Laura smiled up at Alison. ‘I still
think this play could be improved with more realism. A proper gag should go
right in the mouth and fill it, and make talking or calling for help very
difficult. Let’s go over those lines again, but find a handkerchief or
something and put it in my mouth before you tie the scarf over my lips.’
Alison walked to the row of kitchen drawers
and cupboards and took from one a medium sized table napkin. She shook it out
then bunched it up in her hand as she walked back to Laura.
‘Open wide.’
Laura obeyed and Alison packed the thick
cotton into the young woman’s mouth deep enough so that nearly all of it
was behind her teeth, aside from a small strip that protruded from between her
lips. She then untied the silk scarf from Laura’s neck and retied it
neatly around her face and jaw so that it held the gag in place and prevented
Laura from pushing it out with her tongue. Laura tried to say something but the
gag over her tongue reduced her speech to a garbled and very muffled string of
sounds. She experimented calling for help a couple of times - ‘gelgg
gelgg’ - and her eyes widened in surprise when she discovered how well
the gag worked.
Alison untied the scarf and removed the gag.
‘How did that feel?’
‘Whew. Ally, it really worked! I
couldn’t have uttered a word if my life depended on it.’
‘That’s how a heroine should be.
Her life depending on it,’ replied Alison in a bantering tone.
Alison secretly enjoyed herself at
Laura’s expense, as for the next half-hour she repeatedly gagged, freed
and re-gagged her friend as they revised the scene over and over. Laura threw
herself body and soul into her part, struggling energetically and making
furious sounds through the packing in her mouth. With each session, Alison took
her time during the final moment of gloating just after the gag had been tied,
purposely misquoting the passage about the wainscoting and going back over it
to stretch that part of the scene out as much as possible. By the end, Laura
was red-faced and breathing hard, a thin sheen of perspiration glistening
across her brows and around her throat.
‘I think that’s enough for
tonight,’ said Alison as she untied the scarf from over Laura’s
mouth and extracted the now thoroughly sodden wad of table napkin.
‘I’m exhausted,’ said
Laura. ‘And the gag’s made my mouth really dry. Yes, let’s
call it quits for now ... And look at the time. I really must get home to
Puss.’
Alison began unfastening the cord around
Laura’s body. It had become loose and was hanging around the girl’s
waist.
Laura looked down. ‘Next time
you’d better find more rope and tie me up properly. See how I almost
broke free. And look!’ She raised one of her hands. ‘It just
slipped out of its own accord.’
‘I didn’t want to hurt you by
tying it too tight.’
‘But you can make it tighter. I need
something to struggle against, to convince the audience that I’m really a
damsel in distress.’
‘All right. I’ll see what I can
do next time. And when will that be?’
‘How about I come over tomorrow
morning at nine? I’ll bring my overnight bag then.’
‘Great. You can sleep here.’
Alison indicated the double bed in the corner.
Laura, now free, stood, and began rubbing
her wrists. ‘Ouch. I’ve given myself a couple of rope burns.’
‘They’ll fade in a day or
two.’
‘I know, but there’s going to be
more. We have to practice a lot if you’re to learn your lines. You kept
stumbling over those last words before the closing of the scene. ’
To be Continued ...
Unknown American soap(?) from a Chinese
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