Exceptional A young actress has a problem Stage Fright by Navada This Sentence Starts The Story contest entry

There was a knock on the door. “Yes …” she whispered faintly. The door opened a crack and a pair of anxious eyes appeared around the edge.  As the eyes moved further forwards, the rest of the head became visible.  It belonged to a pale, slender young man with fine features and dark spiky hair.  He was dressed completely in black and wearing a headset. “Five minutes, Miranda …” “Thanks, Rick.” “Can I get you anything?  Is there anything you need?” “No …” she whispered, and then cleared her throat.  “Thank you.  I … I’m fine.” “You sure?” She summoned her best smile.  The wattage was faint, but it did the trick. “Yes, thanks.  See you shortly!” The pale face smiled in return.  The head withdrew and the door closed. Miranda studied her face in the illuminated mirror.  Her theatrical make-up looked so garish in the light of day, but the light globes surrounding this mirror allowed her to replicate the impact of stage lighting and adjust her appearance accordingly.  The thick foundation, long, dark false eyelashes, bright eyeshadow and glossy red lips were doing their job.  She looked perfectly normal. She stood up, a little uncertainly, and leaned momentarily against the back of her chair.  She must do this.  There was no other option.  There were no swings or understudies in this production.  She must go on.  Tonight was opening night.  It was her big moment.  It wouldn’t just be the audience in the house, either.  All her family members were sitting out there in the best seats, waiting to cheer her on.  All the city’s top critics and reviewers were out there, too.  Miranda shook her head, trying to dispel this thought. She glanced at the glass of water sitting on her dresser.  Should she?  She decided against it.  Her tummy was fluttering considerably and while she hoped a sip of water might calm things down, she wasn’t prepared to take the risk. Miranda breathed slowly and deeply in and out to a four-count.  In for four, hold for four, out for four, relax for four.  Box breathing.  It was a regular routine she used to ease anxiety and slow down her heart rate.  Generally, it worked a treat.  Tonight, it was making no difference.  The muscles in her cheeks were twitching uncontrollably and her hands were trembling.  She could feel perspiration breaking out beneath her weighty costume. Maybe she should have that drink after all.  It was so hot on stage under those lights, particularly in a corset covered by dark stiff fabric that didn’t breathe.  She mustn’t get dehydrated.  It was dangerous.  Okay, then.  She reached for the water and took a tentative sip.  Ooh.  No.  Not good.  Her tummy was suddenly writhing like a python.  How ridiculous that it should react this way to a simple mouthful of water!  She had known anxiety before in her life, but nothing like this. Thank God she’d decided against eating something before the show.  She knew she could always grab a snack afterwards if she was still hungry.  It was unlikely, though.  Throughout the previews, at the conclusion of each performance, her system had shut down and she’d only just made it home in time to collapse on her bed and fall asleep.  She’d lost weight in the past few weeks.  Not a lot – it wasn’t noticeable to other people – but she could feel it.  She would need to take care not to lose any more.  She was naturally slender, and the demands of this season would strip more weight from her very quickly if she wasn’t careful. There was another faint knock on the dressing room door.  She crossed the room and turned the handle.  Rick was hovering nervously in the corridor. “I’m sorry, Miranda, but Alastair is asking for you.” She stepped into the corridor beside him and pulled the door shut behind her.  He moved aside to let her pass. He is so gracious, thought Miranda.  Stage managers are usually so bossy and twitchy.  Rick is the very essence of courtesy, but he seems even more anxious than I feel.  I must make more of an effort to put him at his ease. As they reached the green room, Miranda could hear an authoritative voice giving instructions to her fellow cast members.  She paused momentarily in the doorway before entering.  Rick waited in the corridor behind her. Alastair turned and saw her. “Miranda, how are you?” “I’m fine.” “Are you really?” “Yes, Alastair, I’m fine.” She did her best to limit the resentment in her voice at being asked so pointedly about her health in front of the whole cast, but Alastair caught the slight edge.  He smiled, nodded, and turned away from her to discuss some finer points with the other actors.  Miranda sat down on the edge of a nearby couch. Once Alastair had finished with the others, he approached her and spoke quietly. “I’m sorry, Miranda”, he began.  “I shouldn’t have asked you that in front of everyone, particularly on opening night.  I didn’t think.  Please forgive me.” “It’s fine, Alastair”, said Miranda, giving a false little laugh.  “I understand your concern, but I’m feeling much better.” His eyes searched her face. “That’s great!  Well, you let me know if you need anything.” She smiled.  She recognised the platitude in his remark, and she’d also noticed that his eyes were assessing her carefully, measuring her level of fatigue and probing for further indications of illness.  He was clearly still concerned. ~~~ When it had happened for the first time, the company was performing their first preview of the season with an audience in the house.  Miranda hadn’t been feeling well all day, but she suppressed any concerns as she donned her constricting costume.  She’d be fine.  She’d worked so hard for this job and this opportunity, and she wasn’t prepared to let anyone down. She’d stood in the wings waiting to go on, breathing deeply and slowly and surreptitiously holding onto some scenery side-stage.  Rick raised a questioning eyebrow as she turned to look at him in the dim light.  She merely smiled in reply. Moments later, she swept onto the stage in her full-length skirt and began to exchange scripted witticisms with her leading man.  Everything felt quite surreal.  The stage lights felt even hotter than usual, and the laughter of the audience swirled around her ears as though she was swimming underwater.  She felt a little unsteady on her feet, and an odd grey fog had apparently settled before her eyes.  While outwardly saying her lines and flirting in character with her co-star, she was inwardly observing these physical sensations curiously and thinking how unusual they were. The next thing she remembered was her eyelids fluttering open.  She was lying on her back in the middle of the stage.  She could hear the murmuring of the audience beyond the drawn curtain as though from a great distance.  A ring of people surrounded her in semi-darkness, all looking down with deep concern.  The top three buttons of her costume were undone, and Rick was on his knees by her side, gently fanning her face with his copy of the script.  “Miranda?” said Alastair gently.  “Can you hear me?” She opened her lips, but no sound came out. ‘It’s okay.  We’re going to help you to your dressing room.  Okay?” She felt a pair of strong arms lift her gently and carry her from the stage.  She was dimly conscious of moving through corridors and being placed on the sofa in her dressing room.  As a cushion was gently placed under her head, she managed a glance upwards to see who was helping her.  She saw Rick’s concerned face hovering just above her own. ~~~ After that, Miranda had fainted twice more in the following week.  Fortunately, on both occasions, she’d managed to exit the stage and collapse in the wings between scenes.  The previews had continued uninterrupted, and the audiences were none the wiser.  However, she hadn’t been able to hide the fact that these episodes occurred.  The stage crew were required to notify Alastair. Some steps were put in place as a result.  Alastair booked her a series of appointments with his friend – a fully qualified psychologist moonlighting as a trained acting coach.  Clearly, Alastair suspected that Miranda’s fainting fits were examples of stage fright.  It wasn’t true, of course.  The stage was her happy place.  She loved the script, she loved her fellow performers, and she loved the crew.  She was engaged in her dream job.  She was so lucky to have landed this role in the first place and she was also lucky that Alastair hadn’t overreacted and replaced her immediately.  There was no guarantee that wouldn’t happen later, of course. At least, thought Miranda, if Alastair believes I’m suffering from stage fright, then he doesn’t suspect what the real issue is. ~~~ There was a knock on the door. “Come in!” she called. Rick popped his head around the door.  “Are you free, Miranda?” “Sure, Rick – come in!” She swivelled her chair around to face him as he perched on the sofa.  “Congratulations on a great opening night!” “Thank you!” “The audience loved you!” She smiled modestly.  “Well, it’s a great script and a strong cast.  And Adam is so hilarious!” “Very true.  This is such a great show to work on.  I’m very lucky.” “We all are.” His eyes searched her face. “And”, she added, meeting his eyes and guessing his thoughts, “I’m luckier than most.” “What do you mean?” “Well, I’m grateful that Alastair has been so supportive.  So far.” Rick paused before replying. “Yes”, he said tentatively.  “I’m so happy that’s the case.” They looked solemnly at each other. “I’m not sure whether you heard, but he referred me to someone for some help.” “I did hear that”, said Rick in a guarded tone.  “There’s … been some discussion about it.  Backstage.” “I imagine so.  I’d be surprised if no-one was discussing it.  Fainting on stage is a bit dramatic.  Alastair thinks I’m suffering from stage fright.” “But you’re not!” blurted Rick.  His eyes widened and he froze.  He suddenly looked as though he’d been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar.  Clearly, he would very much like to retract his hasty words, but it was too late. Miranda regarded him silently. “I didn’t … gosh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to say that.” Another awkward pause ensued. “Would you like me to leave?” “No, don’t be silly,” said Miranda quietly.  “Rick, is there something you’re trying to tell me?” Again, he paused. “It … it’s not my place …” “I wouldn’t be offended.” “You … you’re sure?” “I know where you’re coming from, Rick.  I’m confident that I can trust you.” His eyes met hers once again. “You can, Miranda.” “Then what is it?” He breathed deeply. “It’s ... it’s just that … my sister has a similar thing.” “A similar what?” “She’s been having similar symptoms.  She’s recently been diagnosed with cardiac syncope.” She regarded him levelly.  Neither of them spoke for a moment. “She’s receiving treatment now and she says she’ll be fine.” There was another pause. “Rick, you realise that if I failed to disclose a medical condition to the production team, it may well mean the end of my involvement in this production?” He nodded silently. “It may potentially damage my career.” He breathed deeply. “That would be a very good reason not to say anything, wouldn’t it?” She didn’t respond. “But,” he added carefully, “if you were secretly struggling with something, it would be … helpful … to know that someone in the crew has your back.” “Really?” “Oh, yes.  They could … look out for you and ensure that no-one else develops any suspicions.  They could talk to other people about how passionate you are about this role.  They could mention how much it means to you, how much you care about doing it right, and maybe that’s why you’re suffering from a little stage fright.” Her mouth dropped open. “You mean … you …” He looked at her steadily. “You … told Alastair it was just stage fright …” He said nothing. “That’s so kind of you!” “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” said Rick.  His mouth twitched at the corners.  She smiled. “I love my sister very much, you know”, he said quietly.  “The one with the similar symptoms.  I’m glad that she’s approached a suitable doctor for help.  They’re bound by confidentiality, of course, so she can be treated … discreetly … and she can be completely confident that no-one else knows about it.  And because she’s receiving the right kind of treatment, I know that she’s … safe in her workplace … and that brings me peace of mind.” Her smile broadened a little.  She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Hey, Rick?” “Yes?” “Do you feel like grabbing a coffee on the way out?  There’s a really nice little coffee shop about three blocks from here, near the railway station.” Rick said nothing.  But his bright smile gave Miranda her answer. Recognized

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