Is that true?”The two women nodded.“You as well, Sandrine?” Heathcoate was not convinced an African woman could read.“Yes, sir,” answered Sa...drine. With that she reached behind her to remove a sheet of text drying on a rack. “You mean, like this?” She began to read from the top.His manhood, the flower of his youth, saluted her beauty in the most unmistakable manner. Her eyes widened as she absorbed the magnificence of his member.“Give me that!”To Sandrine’s laughter Heathcoate took the sheet. I threatened them. I accused them of not caring enough. I told them that they were trying too hard. Chris stormed off stage. Alyssa cried. I made them run through the scene again. Each performance grew more stilted, more empty, more dry. The more they rehearsed, the worse they played their parts. Just before midnight, I let them go, insisting that they be back on stage at eight in the morning, six hours before anyone else would be there because we were going to play the scene until we got it. More

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