We Both Catch Fire

There was a little ring of water where the mug had once been.

My fingers were now curled around the handle as my eyes traced a path across the tabletop, onto the floor, over the mounds of wrinkled fabric until finally I was staring through the open door. Across the hall, my eyes discovered their target and locked on. But I quickly turned away, pretending to be busy, hoping I hadn't been noticed.

I set down the coffee and shoved my hands into a large cardboard box filled with linen, and an instant pain shot through my fingertip. With a mild squeak, I jerked my hand away and noticed the little droplet of blood seeping out. Pinprick. It happened all the time.

They were laughing at me, I was sure of it. I knew it wasn't necessarily a bad thing--I had squeaked, it wasn't something most people were accustomed to hearing--but my cheeks burned as if I had put my face too close to a campfire. They were probably pink.

I put the tip of my finger between my lips and sucked it for a bit.

I needed to find Danae.

What the hell I was supposed to do with this fabric? Without her patterns, I was equivalent to the stray pin that had been lying in the depths of the box. A nuisance, without much use, except to irritate others.

Danae! Where is she? I thought. I didn't have any calls or text messages. And I couldn't very well sit around and wait for her--rehearsals were behind schedule as it was due to the costuming problems, and being that I was a member of the department, I needed to keep busy. Danae wouldn't get blamed, but she'd take it out on me for not following her instructions, staring over the rim of her glasses and tightening her lips so that they were a thin pink line across her jaw. Her eyes would be glassy and focused, and I wouldn't be able to help but retreat into my reclusive shyness.

Swallowing hard, I stood my full height and stepped cautiously toward the door to the hallway. The hallway I didn't want to go through, because I was supposed to "stay out of the way and let the professionals do their job." As I didn't fit the description of a professional by any means, I adhered religiously to the advice. But I was desperate to find my boss.

My heart pounded and my palms felt clammy as I tried to maintain my composure, walking across the linoleum. At five feet eight inches, I was tall, but nearing the group of men opposite, I didn't feel very tall at all. They were all about six foot and had some degree of muscle.

I was a wimp. I was twenty-nine and I could barely speak loudly enough to be heard by the clerk at the local library. Some people called me anti-social. I didn't mind being around people, but if there was a potential that I would have to talk to a lot of them, it made me nervous.

Men made me nervous, too.

My voice was shaky and my breath shallow. I cleared my throat, through it sounded more like a faint little scratching noise than an actual a-hem. Immediately all three of the men turned and faced me head-on.

I thought I had a heart attack. I nearly choked on my own oxygen.

"Ah... uh... could... do any of you know where I could find Danae Rodgers?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. They all seemed confused at my disposition. My cheeks got hot again, much warmer than before. Red as raspberries, I'll bet.

"She's in the director's office."

"Oh."

"Do you need something?"

"N-...no. Not really. But, um, if you see her, please let her know I'm looking for her," I trailed off into silence. I was staring at him. I quickly nodded my head down to look at my feet.

"Sure," the man said, then asked, "what's your name?"

"M-Mandy."

"I'll be sure to let her know."

"Thanks," I replied quickly and turned around, moving hastily back into the oversized costume closet and closing the door behind me.

I could breathe again, because I wasn't face-to-face with him.

The black-brown hair. And the soft olive-colored eyes. Tan. Maybe about six foot two. Everyone knew who he was. For someone who didn't get out much, even I knew that face.

I had known from the start that he was going to be in the show, but I had also dashed any hope of meeting him from my mind. It had seemed unrealistic, a foolish goal. I was here to pay the bills, not fraternize with high-profile celebrities. But it had, unwittingly, happened and the sound of my pumping blood was still thrumming in my ears.

I didn't know if I was dreaming, but even if I was, I wasn't about to deny that I had just had a conversation with the one and only Hugh Jackman.