Naughty Little Secrets - Mary Wilbon

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was sure that he had given it his best try. He was determined to get through a dance number here and now without falling or stumbling.

      Focus, Eugene, focus.

      And…5, 6, 7, 8

      Kick, step, kick, step

      Turn in, turn out

      Back step, pivot step

      Arabesque, arabesque

      Double pirouette

      On one of his turns, Eugene noticed the car sitting there directly in front of him with its lights off. He had been so deeply into his performance that he hadn’t heard it drive up. He felt a little embarrassed. He must have looked very foolish from the car, all alone out here in the darkness, playing out his little pantomime.

      But his friend would understand. They were both in the same show.

      The car’s engine came to life, then its lights came on, centering on Eugene, pinpointing him with two steady radiating beams.

      Eugene smiled and waved and started walking toward the car.

      He blinked and squinted as he approached, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness surrounding him.

      As he walked closer, Eugene looked into the car and his smile quickly withered. He saw the look of raw unbridled hatred on the face of the driver. The burning rage staring back at him was paralyzing.

      At first the driver was nervous about being recognized. There was a feeling of sick excitement. That quickly passed. The driver began to enjoy the eye contact, enjoyed being recognized by Eugene. Now they had another secret connection. It would be Eugene’s last little secret.

      The driver smiled, and shifted position in the seat, getting comfortable.

      Fear came fast to Eugene and it showed on his face. The driver liked that.

      Eugene stopped abruptly in his tracks. A sudden chill pierced him to his soul.

      He was alone, wasted and vulnerable, with nowhere to hide.

      In an instant of crystal clarity, Eugene understood exactly what was about to happen to him.

      That was the funny thing. The idea of killing Eugene took shape like a slow moving dream, but Eugene knew he was going to be murdered even before the driver had positively decided to murder him.

      Oh, my God, Eugene thought. It was true what everyone had always said.

      When you’re about to die, your life really does flash before your eyes.

      Eugene’s life in musical theater was flashing before him!

      West Side Story, Man of La Mancha, A Chorus Line, South Pacific, The Fantasticks, Evita, Pippin, Dream Girls, The Sound of Music, Guys and Dolls, The Wiz, Follies, Victor/Victoria, The Music Man, Godspell, Sorry I Missed Your Birthday.

      Eugene needed a moment to prepare.

      He raised his hand, seeking a temporary delay to the inevitable.

      The driver understood and gave Eugene his moment. The car’s engine revved once, then twice, then settled down to a regulated continuous purr, contented, it seemed to Eugene, like a cat patiently contemplating its trapped defenseless prey.

      Eugene had never spent much time pondering the existence of God, but perhaps, he thought, this would be a good time to pray.

      His knees hit the snow.

      Eugene didn’t pray for God to spare him. He knew there was no chance of that. He didn’t ask for forgiveness of his sins, and he didn’t dare ask that his soul be welcomed into the gates of Heaven for all eternity.

      He didn’t pray that peace and comfort be given to the ones who loved him, those whose hearts would mourn his death.

      Instead, Eugene prayed that his favorite head shot would be used in his obituary.

      Amen.

      Then Eugene stood tall and signaled the driver to bring the lights up.

      The high beams came on.

      With consummate poise and elegance, Eugene took his final bow and made his final exit.

      He looked so graceful from the car. It was obvious he was afraid. His body swayed with fear but he never faltered, not for an instant. It was an image that would last forever.

      There was the sense that the earth was about to shift. This was the turning point, the threshold.

      The driver looked away momentarily, unsure.

      For a heartbeat, Eugene felt a twinge of hope.

      The moon was so bright, like a great blind eye. It was hypnotic.

      Focus back on Eugene, there came a detached peaceful trance. Independent hands, possessed of their own will, gripped the steering wheel like they had their own purpose. Somehow the gas pedal was pressed to the floor, and the car leaped forward.

      The car came hurtling at Eugene, pitched him into the air, and sped away into the night.

      Without hesitating for a second, without remorse, the driver drove off and never looked back.

      Problem solved.

      Eugene’s flawless body shattered internally against the ground in a crumpled heap about twenty feet from impact with the car, and then he felt nothing. He was broken and bleeding. In the remaining shallow breaths left to him, he could smell the acrid stench of stale beer and urine from the pavement rising up through the snow. He almost laughed at himself, knowing that these would be the only earthly scents he would take with him into the afterlife. If there was one.

      He couldn’t move, he couldn’t feel, he couldn’t even cry out in his anguish, but he could see the widening pool of his hemorrhaging blood as it flowed and discolored the snow around him.

      In this cold and lonely place, armed with nothing more than his frail resignation, Eugene waited to die.

      God was merciful.

      He didn’t judge Eugene for his weaknesses. He rewarded him for his strengths. He granted Eugene the place in Heaven he had felt unworthy to ask for.

      In his dwindling seconds of consciousness, as Eugene slipped into oblivion, all of his departed idols of the theater embraced him with a standing ovation. Judy Garland, Rosalind Russell, Katharine Hepburn, Ethel Merman, Mary Martin, Gene Kelly, Sammy Davis, Jr., Pearl Bailey, Gregory Hines, Bob Fosse. They all cheered, threw bouquets and long stemmed roses, applauded and shouted “Bravo! Bravo! Bravissimo!”

      Eugene smiled weakly.

      Sotto voce.

      Eugene was dimly aware that a gentle winter wind was approaching. It stirred through the trees, tenderly blowing off leaves that had died, but still held on tenuously. He knew this wind was coming for him, too.

      Eugene closed his eyes for the very last time.

      Slow fade.

      Curtain.

      1

      Laura closed her eyes and let her body relax. She took a long deep breath, and slowly exhaled. She did it again.

      In, and out. In, and out.

      She began to feel the rhythm inside her.

      In, and out. In, and out.

      She rubbed her hands together, blew into her palms, then flexed her fingers. Laura was intensely determined to finish what she had started. Even if it took all night, she was going to get it up. She wanted it that badly. The clock was ticking and her desire, her need, was becoming urgent.

      She reached over to the nightstand by the bed, and grabbed a bottle of lotion. She squirted some on a few strategic places on her body, then slowly and deliberately

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