Lawrence studied himself in the mirror. There were more lines there on his face, certainly.
He sighed and pulled on the vest he wore over a crisp white shirt. The shirt, vest and pants had all been crafted with purpose. He observed himself with pride in the mirror. The costume had tearaway seams cleverly concealed in the fabric. Undetectable to the casual observer. The seams would not tear straight, but they would tear, and could be easily repaired. He carefully blotted his face, removing the oily sheen left by sweat from the hot stage lights. Rehearsal had gone perfectly this afternoon, no doubt tonight’s performance would as well. He unbuttoned the shirt down to the fourth button, exposing his deceptively smooth chest, smoothing the shirt over his ribs and stomach with satisfaction.
“Larry!” a petite woman called from the other side of the large dressing area. Lawrence winced and sighed.
“Lawrence, Nadia. I told you, please, call me Lawrence.”
“Right, Lawrence. Apologies.” She replied quickly, approaching him swiftly, her soft soled shoes whispering over the thin carpet. She wanted to roll her eyes, but managed to maintain a steady gaze, not a hint of annoyance on her face or in her voice, but he could smell it coming from her. It amused him. It shouldn’t but it did. “The rehearsal went great, but we were just checking if there were any changes you need made before tonight’s show. Should be quite a turnout!”
His nostrils flared slightly as he looked her over. Something was different. She was annoyed, but also nervous. He didn’t like that.
“Rehearsal did go well. Why should there be changes? Is something troubling you?” He inhaled deeply, and then he knew. He almost laughed, but did not. Clearly she thought the scent of her would send him into a frenzy. He had encountered this prejudice before. He waited to see if she would mention it.
“Listen, I don’t know that I should be your handler tonight. I think maybe Bruce or Mick might be better suited” She was blunt, he’d give her that. He admired her honesty. It was refreshing.
“I understand your concern were you dealing with some monster, however, the times, they are a changing. Things have come a long way, and I am in complete control. If you wish to trade places, that’s fine, no hard feelings.
“I trust your judgement sir, however I’ve already asked Mick to be on standby with me. He’s agreed.
He did laugh then. He couldn’t help it. “It’s fine. Whatever makes you feel safe, take the night off if you want.” He waved a hand at her, dismissing her. She rolled her eyes and walked out, just shy of stomping like a petulant child. The age difference between them made that an appropriate assertion, come to think of it.
He shook his head, still chuckling.
“You absolute beast” He said to his reflection. A ripple of coarse dark hair made its way across his forehead before retreating beneath his skin again. He scratched at his skin distractedly. That used to hurt. Like thousands of needles pricking his flesh. Time, patience and practice, and he had gained control of the curse, as much as one could with such things.
He went to the tall windows set behind thick velvet curtains. He looked out into the sky, finding the north star and the big dipper. He enjoyed the night sky. The complicated beauty of it. Hard to see with all the man-made lights these days.
He sighed again and went back to the mirror, looking himself over again. Time to get something to eat.
He took the old sweater off the back of the chair and put it on over the costume. No good getting stains on his shirt.
He made his way out of the back room, leaving behind the echoing silence and peace, moving towards the lights and noise of the casino floor. He hated this part of his life. He pulled ear plugs out of his pocket, inserting them snugly into his ears. They helped with the constant noise and confusion.
He pulled tinted glasses out of the sweater pocket and seated them on his nose. They helped with the lights, and the air of mystery he so enjoyed.
With a deep breath he stepped through the doorway and into the back hall, the sounds of bells and ridiculous music penetrating the ear plugs. He took a deep breath before pushing through the swinging doors at the end of the hall. The lights assailed him first, flashing and racing, far too bright and frantic, even through the tinted lenses. His eye was drawn to the people slumped at the machines, and he looked quickly away again, their desperation sapped his energy. He could smell it coming off them in waves. That, and the smell of stale piss and liquor. His lip curled in disgust. He turned quickly to the small café tucked into the corner, passing by the people crowded around tiny tables, stuffing food despondently into their greedy mouths. He doubted they could even taste it over their relentless thoughts of the next big jackpot, watching their heads swivel when the bells rang extra loud. Pausing like cows in a field, open mouthed and shocked at their poor timing. Someone else would always win bigger. He passed through the bar waving to the head bartender. A decent fellow, he sometimes assisted Lawrence during his performance, and never asked too many questions.
He entered the kitchen and went straight for the back corner. The sous chef nodded curtly at him, slapping a barely cooked steak on a plate and sliding it down to him. His stomach growled in anticipation.
“You want fries with that, Lawrence?” The big man asked, a snarky smile quirking his lips. Lawrence growled and snatched the plate from the counter. He turned abruptly and walked from the kitchen, hearing the muttered, “Sorry man, didn’t mean anything by it” from the chef. He didn’t reply. Not sure why the question irritated him so much. He paused at the salad bar in the cafe dining room, adding fresh carrots and spinach leaves to the plate.
He took the plate back through the café, the raucous casino, and into the blissful quiet in the back. He sat at the table across from the mirror, avoiding his own eyes as he ate the steak. He cleaned the plate efficiently, leaving nothing behind. He placed the plate on a rolling cart near the door, just as the evening’s entertainment began filing in. The girls in their street clothes, makeup and hair already started at home, their perfume thick in his nose and mouth. They glided past him, lost in their own conversations. His nostrils flared and he turned away, taking off the sweater and draping it over a chair, leaving the room to walk down the dark back hall and find the moon outside. He stepped out into the cool night, ignoring the dirty walls surrounding the small courtyard littered with cigarette butts and miscellaneous trash. He looked up to find the moon, half full but shining brightly. He looked for Venus, a bright spark. He inhaled deeply. The sounds of the city lively on the other side of the wall, distant sirens, ever present.
“Showtime” he said quietly, turning back to the door, propped open with a rock. He kicked the rock out of the way and stepped through the door, letting it slam behind him, feeling the anger build slow and purposeful within him. His skin prickling in anticipation, his muscles and joints loose and fluid. He fought the urge to drop to all fours and run, feeling the skin of his back rippling.
He made his way quickly to the far end of the hall, removing the glasses and ear plugs and tucking them into pockets as he walked, feeling the anger crawl up his spine. He passed the dressing room, glancing inside and locking eyes with a dancer, topless and startled as their eyes met. He felt her fear and it was exhilarating. She was frozen as he passed, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open at the sight of him, seeming to expand, his eyes impossibly green and glowing.
She remained stock still, a startled doe panicked by the hunt, and he moved on, striding with purpose, hearing the music swelling at the end of the hall, the voice speaking into the microphone amplified and almost unbearable to his sensitive ears. The voice belonged to Mick. So, Nadia had taken the night off after all. Smart girl. He was feeling particularly feral this evening.
“Suspend your disbelief, friends” came the voice, and he could picture Mick, slicked back hair and a natural announcers flair standing under the light of a synthetic full moon, arms spread wide, telling the pathetic pack of humans the fable of the wolf-man. He felt his jaw shifting and he held on to what little peace he had in his mind, the image of the beautiful half moon shining down, Venus seated nearby, shining brightly. He held on to these images as he entered the backstage area.
“Lawrence Talbot! The Wolf Maaaaaan” Mick shouted. Lawrence burst through the curtain, launching himself onto all fours as the transformation took him, euphoria racing with the coarse fur rippling over him, muscles and bones popping and shifting, his last coherent thought for the next 45 seconds, of the moon and Venus, and remaining just human enough to not kill them all.
