Heart's Desire
Mavis spotted Will at one of the university’s Dramatic Society rehearsals, not as part of the cast but building sets. She discovered him backstage with a paintbrush in hand, crouched low by a wood panel that had been nailed between poststo represent a side wall of the banquet hall in Macbeth’s castle. A checkered shirt and jeans fit agreeably to his lean frame—a more casual look than the sport coats and sweater vests he wore to class. He didn’t notice her at first, with his attention focused on the dark outlines he was adding to represent mortar between the stone blocks he’d painted onto the panel in tones of gray and brown. She slowed her steps, pausing to admire the rows of stones taking shape, and the way he’d used shadow and highlightto lend the illusion of texture and depth to the flat surface of the wood.
He glanced up with a smile, and her heart took a funny little tumble. She hadn’t gotten a good look at his face before, or noticed the rich mahogany hue of his eyes. A smear of gray paint marred his cheek. As she looked at him, a quizzical expression crossed his face.
“I don’t mean to stare,” she said quickly. “It’s just … your cheek.” She pointed to her own cheek to indicate the spot.
Will swiped at his face with the heel of his hand, his smile slanting sheepishly.
“This is beautiful work,” Mavis added, pleased that her tongue had finally loosened.
“Thank you.”
“What do you think of the Scottish play?”
His brow knitted in question. “You mean Macbeth?”
“It’s bad luck to say the name out loud,” she explained with a shrug. “It’s one of those old superstitions in the theatre. Silly, I know.”
“I see.” He stood and reached for a rag to wipe his hand. “Well, I didn’t care much for Shakespeare in high school, but seeing it on stage, with actors bringing those dusty old monologues to life, it’s a different beast altogether.” His broad shoulders jerked up. “Not that I can see much of it back here, but I can hear everything. I heard you in the last scene, Lady Macduff. You’ve got real talent.”
Warmth spread through her chest, bringing a smile to her lips. “Thanks. Well, now that my character’s been brutally hacked to pieces, I have to cool my heels for a bit while Lady Macbeth chews up her final scene.” Onstage she could hear Peggy screeching her lines, bemoaning imagined blood that refused to wash off her hands. “You don’t mind if I hang out back here, do you?”
“Be my guest.”Will set down his brush and drew up a nearby wooden stool for her, brushing wisps of wood shaving off the seat with his forearm. “I’ve seen you in English class.”
Arranging herself on the stool, Mavis crossed her legs and tucked her knee-length gray wool skirt under her thighs. Until now she hadn’t considered that he might have caught her watching him draw during class, but his smile held a hint of suggestion that she couldn’t quite interpret.
“I hope you don’t mind that I noticed your notebook sketches,” she said quickly. “I was only admiring them—and wondering how you get away with not taking any notes. I have to write everything down or I’ve forgotten it the next day.”
Again his shoulders lifted and fell. “I have a good memory. If I hear something once I can often recall it later word for word.”
“I wish I could do that. I’m having a hard time memorizing my lines. Maybe it’s nerves. I acted in high school and never had any trouble. But being so far away from home for the first time, it’s all been overwhelming.” Mavis didn’t usually make a habit of spilling personal information to strangers, but she couldn’t seem to help herself now.
Briefly he studied her face. “Let me know if I can be of any help.”
“Thanks.” She broadened her smile, more at ease. “My name’s Mavis Barkley, by the way.”
“Will Dixon.”
After checking his hand for wet paint, he offered it to her and she grasped it. It was the first time in her life she’d touched a Negro, and in that moment the contrast of his rich brown skin against her pale hand fascinated her.
When he released her hand, she realized her cheeks were burning.
Mavis spotted Will at one of the university’s Dramatic Society rehearsals, not as part of the cast but building sets. She discovered him backstage with a paintbrush in hand, crouched low by a wood panel that had been nailed between poststo represent a side wall of the banquet hall in Macbeth’s castle. A checkered shirt and jeans fit agreeably to his lean frame—a more casual look than the sport coats and sweater vests he wore to class. He didn’t notice her at first, with his attention focused on the dark outlines he was adding to represent mortar between the stone blocks he’d painted onto the panel in tones of gray and brown. She slowed her steps, pausing to admire the rows of stones taking shape, and the way he’d used shadow and highlightto lend the illusion of texture and depth to the flat surface of the wood.
He glanced up with a smile, and her heart took a funny little tumble. She hadn’t gotten a good look at his face before, or noticed the rich mahogany hue of his eyes. A smear of gray paint marred his cheek. As she looked at him, a quizzical expression crossed his face.
“I don’t mean to stare,” she said quickly. “It’s just … your cheek.” She pointed to her own cheek to indicate the spot.
Will swiped at his face with the heel of his hand, his smile slanting sheepishly.
“This is beautiful work,” Mavis added, pleased that her tongue had finally loosened.
“Thank you.”
“What do you think of the Scottish play?”
His brow knitted in question. “You mean Macbeth?”
“It’s bad luck to say the name out loud,” she explained with a shrug. “It’s one of those old superstitions in the theatre. Silly, I know.”
“I see.” He stood and reached for a rag to wipe his hand. “Well, I didn’t care much for Shakespeare in high school, but seeing it on stage, with actors bringing those dusty old monologues to life, it’s a different beast altogether.” His broad shoulders jerked up. “Not that I can see much of it back here, but I can hear everything. I heard you in the last scene, Lady Macduff. You’ve got real talent.”
Warmth spread through her chest, bringing a smile to her lips. “Thanks. Well, now that my character’s been brutally hacked to pieces, I have to cool my heels for a bit while Lady Macbeth chews up her final scene.” Onstage she could hear Peggy screeching her lines, bemoaning imagined blood that refused to wash off her hands. “You don’t mind if I hang out back here, do you?”
“Be my guest.”Will set down his brush and drew up a nearby wooden stool for her, brushing wisps of wood shaving off the seat with his forearm. “I’ve seen you in English class.”
Arranging herself on the stool, Mavis crossed her legs and tucked her knee-length gray wool skirt under her thighs. Until now she hadn’t considered that he might have caught her watching him draw during class, but his smile held a hint of suggestion that she couldn’t quite interpret.
“I hope you don’t mind that I noticed your notebook sketches,” she said quickly. “I was only admiring them—and wondering how you get away with not taking any notes. I have to write everything down or I’ve forgotten it the next day.”
Again his shoulders lifted and fell. “I have a good memory. If I hear something once I can often recall it later word for word.”
“I wish I could do that. I’m having a hard time memorizing my lines. Maybe it’s nerves. I acted in high school and never had any trouble. But being so far away from home for the first time, it’s all been overwhelming.” Mavis didn’t usually make a habit of spilling personal information to strangers, but she couldn’t seem to help herself now.
Briefly he studied her face. “Let me know if I can be of any help.”
“Thanks.” She broadened her smile, more at ease. “My name’s Mavis Barkley, by the way.”
“Will Dixon.”
After checking his hand for wet paint, he offered it to her and she grasped it. It was the first time in her life she’d touched a Negro, and in that moment the contrast of his rich brown skin against her pale hand fascinated her.
When he released her hand, she realized her cheeks were burning.